


Phantasmal Voices

by Kayleen756894



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Bonding, Bullying, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Denial of Feelings, Depression, F/F, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Moving On, Non-Abusive Junkan, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Protectiveness, Sad and Happy, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Soft!Junko, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayleen756894/pseuds/Kayleen756894
Summary: Sometimes Mikan heard a voice in her head that told her to do bad things.But usually that voice was just the spirit of the recently deceased model Junko Enoshima, just as mischievous and morally questionable as Mikan remembered her from high school, who won’t—and can’t—leave her side after Mikan saw her die.Sometimes Mikan heard a voice in her head that told her to do kind things, like stand up for herself, and that voice was silent before Junko appeared.Non-abusive, slow burn Junko x Mikan featuring Ghost!Junko.
Relationships: Enoshima Junko & Ikusaba Mukuro, Enoshima Junko/Tsumiki Mikan, Hinata Hajime/Tsumiki Mikan (Past), Ikusaba Mukuro & Tsumiki Mikan, Koizumi Mahiru/Saionji Hiyoko, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Mioda Ibuki/Tsumiki Mikan, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 26
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a project I’ve had in mind for a few months now and recently I finally took the time to figure out how I wanted this story to work and finished up the first chapter. “Ghost!Junko” and “slow burn” were the first things in my mind and it eventually evolved into all of this. I’m really excited to explore this idea and to hear what people think of it (lord knows we need more soft Junko and non-abusive Junkan in general and I will be queen of those I swear).
> 
> The main focus of this story from start to finish is soft, non-abusive Junko x Mikan. Mukuro x Mikan will grow as the story progresses and Ibuki x Mikan will play its part as well, but the rest of the pairings are very much in the background and not very relevant to the plot. I will add characters and ships to the tags as they appear in the story.
> 
> Despite the sad, dark tone the first chapter suggests, there will be lots of fluffy and light-hearted moments in the story too! It’s gonna bounce back and forth.
> 
> Other details for the plot:  
> \- the cast are young adults  
> \- the main group is in college, but college life isn’t a focal point for the story  
> \- Ultimate talents are not a thing here, but the characters are passionate about what their canon talent is (ex Mikan is not the Ultimate Nurse but she has medical knowledge and wishes to become a nurse)  
> \- Junko’s still a chaotic asshole and loves despair but she doesn’t want to like, kill people  
> \- the rating will eventually raise to E and I will add appropriate tags when that occurs
> 
> Warning: this first chapter is extremely heavy with suicidal themes. If that would trigger you please do not read it. If the way Mikan thinks in this chapter reflects your own thinking at all, PLEASE get help and know that you’re loved and valued.

Maybe Mikan’s life wouldn’t be considered normal compared to the lives of her high school classmates she grew up with, but it was all she had ever known.

When others students approached school excited to learn and see their friends, she had to mentally prepare herself for horrific bullying.

When other students returned home ready to laze about or party, she went home shaking from foretelling images of the abuse she would suffer from her parents.

When other students fell into bed with no concerns for their safety, she lied awake wondering if her door would be broken down again; pondering how early she would have to wake up to hide the bruises with makeup; debating how much medical supplies to bring to school the next morning if someone decided to hurt her.

She didn’t like it. Of course she didn’t. It molded her into an ugly, pathetic shape that barely resembled a person; this marred creature that never learned how to properly socialize and currently struggled through the lonely, stressful hardships of college life. She was away from her parents at least—she doubted they would let her return—but her bullying and suffering remained endless.

She was always treated like an object. A mat to be stepped on. A slab of meat to be beaten and fucked. She wasn’t a person. She never felt like a person. After all, how could someone so useless and disgusting possibly be a human being worthy of respect?

She hated it. Hated herself. But this was all she ever knew. This was normal for her. And she never expected anything to change or improve.

But hope and despair often clash in mysterious, unfathomable ways.

A month ago Mikan never could have guessed how backwards her world would turn; how abnormal her life would become.

For the first time, the voices in her head were kind. For the first time, she was protected from those who wished her harm. For the first time, she wasn’t lonely. For the first time, she felt... loved.

Yet somehow, simultaneously, Mikan’s heart had never ached with more sorrow.

* * *

Mikan had been focusing less and less in her classes. Not on purpose. She wanted to learn. Becoming a nurse was her childhood dream. She wanted nothing more than to help people, to devote her life to others, and she needed high marks in these courses to turn that dream into a reality.

But some days, beyond her own consciousness, she didn’t care, because some days she was sure she wouldn’t be around come graduation.

Originally she was able to wrestle against such thoughts when they had been a mere annoyance at worst; a simple ‘what-if’ scenario she could brush off like the banana peel thrown on her shoulder last week. But over the past few months the time between those days grew shorter and shorter until those thoughts haunted her every waking moment.

Until all she craved was sleep.

It wasn’t until half the students had cleared out that Mikan snapped out of her thoughts and realized her final evening class had ended. She took a deep, shuttering breath, mentally preparing herself as she packed her notebooks into her backpack. It was the dreaded time of day where she had journey back to her dorm, and while this would normally be the highlight of people’s days, this was the biggest chance for Mikan to be spotted and confronted by anyone who wanted to bully her. And, unfortunately, this building was on the opposite side of campus from the dorms.

She planned out the shortest route months ago, attempted detours occasionally after memorizing which bullies were also let out of classes at this time, but it didn’t matter. If someone had it out for her then they always had a way of finding her, regardless how much she strategized an escape route.

Some wanted money even though she owned little. Some wanted to mess with her just because they knew she was an easy target.

Some wanted something she didn’t want to give anymore.

Mikan released another deep breath, swinging her bag over her shoulders and barely avoiding tripping over her feet as she rushed out of the building and headed across campus. The sun was beginning to set, casting a fiery orange glow over the abundance of tall structures, scenery and clumps of students.

The campus was quite spacious and beautiful, lined with trees and flora and a flowing river, perfect for picnics and other peaceful outdoor activities. Every time she gazed upon a couple or group of friends sharing food under the shade of a tree her wish to fully explore the campus grew—even though she knew she never would. Maybe she would have earlier if she had felt safe enough to do so.

Most people didn’t even acknowledge her when she walked by. Most never gave her a second glance other than a handful of delinquents, but those delinquents had cornered her enough times by now that she knew she wasn’t being paranoid.

She hated that she couldn’t decide what bothered her more; no attention or negative attention. The negative attention scared her, dehumanized her, but at least... at least people were looking at her. At least she was entertaining them. Was useful to them in some way.

Those people proved she existed.

Lately she became numb to the pain. Let them hurt her and call her names. Let them make her college life a living hell. She deserved it. She was a waste of space and resources. There was probably someone out there that couldn’t get into this program because Mikan had claimed their spot. They could probably become a much better nurse or medical professional than Mikan could ever dream of being.

That person... should be in her place instead.

Distracted, Mikan bumped into someone and stumbled to the cobblestone.

“I-I’m so sorry!” Mikan said, standing and brushing off her skirt. “P-please forgive me!”

“Gross!” came a harsh, whiny voice. “Get the fuck away from me, pig-barf!”

Mikan froze, eyes widening in fear. It was Hiyoko Saionji, the person Mikan tried avoiding most on her treks. But somehow her old classmate always had a way of finding her; like she had a sixth sense for when Mikan was feeling down and constantly harboured the need to deliver a few kicks.

Physically, Hiyoko had changed a lot since high school. She had the biggest growth spurt of their whole class, now standing even taller than Mikan. She also abandoned her pigtails in favour of a ponytail, making her look much more mature. At first glance, she seemed like an entirely new, changed person.

Mentally, Hiyoko was exactly the same.

“You are literally the most disgusting person on the face of this planet.” Hiyoko sneered, pressing a mocking thumb to her nose. “You sure you’re human? Ever asked your dad if he fucked a pig before?”

Mikan wrung her hands together anxiously. “N-no, I h-haven’t asked...”

Hiyoko squinted at her. “Wh—that was _clearly_ a rhetorical question. Are you stupid? No, don’t answer. That’s another rhetorical question I’m sure your minuscule swine brain couldn’t understand.”

Mikan flinched, stepping back. She already felt tears forming in her eyes.

Hiyoko had been Mikan’s harshest and most consistent bully since day one of high school and after learning they also attended the same college, Mikan could never escape her wrath.

She didn’t even call Mikan by her name. She couldn’t recall Hiyoko _ever_ calling her by her name. It was always some derogatory nickname or insult; like having a real name was too human for a lowly creature like her.

Mikan knew Hiyoko wasn’t a nice person. She wasn’t sure why Hiyoko wasn’t a nice person, something in her past must have made her this way, but Mikan knew she wasn’t the only person Hiyoko bullied—just that she had it the worst. The only person Hiyoko was actually nice to was her girlfriend, Mahiru. Everyone else was an ant for her to squish.

Mikan had hoped college would be a much better experience for her than high school. A place where she could learn, become a better person and take the steps necessary to achieve her dream of becoming a nurse. She had hoped all the drama and bullying she endured in high school would come to an end.

Not with Hiyoko around. The ants under her feet may as well have been Mikan’s dreams.

“How could anyone ever take you as a nurse seriously?” Hiyoko growled, her deriding tone like a sharpened knife; hungry and poised near Mikan’s arteries. “I definitely wouldn’t feel safe under your care. You’d probably trip and spill a bunch of shit all over your patients! Oh, and give them a panty shot like the desperate whore you are, _obviously_.”

Mikan glanced around nervously and noticed some students staring at this vicious tirade as they walked by, but none bothered to get involved.

She wasn’t worth helping. Of course she wasn’t. She’d only be a burden to them.

“I bet you still throw yourself at all the boys like you threw yourself at Hajime back in high school.”

The metaphorical knife tasted her skin and Mikan bit her lip, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. She didn’t like being reminded of that. She hated thinking about it.

Not that Hiyoko cared what made her uncomfortable.

“You know he’ll never really forgive you for that, right? And can you blame him? Who’d ever want to _actually_ date you with how unstable and obsessive you are?” Hiyoko blew a raspberry and crossed her arms. “God you’re so gross, I can barely even look at you. No idea how Ibuki can room with you and not catch gonorrhea or something.”

Mikan’s heart throbbed. Another sore spot. Mikan always felt upset when Hiyoko brought Ibuki, her only real friend, into these sessions. Hiyoko always knew how to hurt her most. A professional at bullying one could say, if such a thing even existed, and Hiyoko would probably wear that deplorable crown with a smug grin.

Hiyoko sighed, almost sounding disappointed. “Wow, at least back in the day you’d ask me to stop. Now you just take it like a little bitch. You have no spine at all, do you? How can trash like you even exist? How have you made it this far in life?”

Mikan bit her lip harder, tasting blood.

_I don’t know how I’m still alive._

_You make me not want to be alive._

_I don’t want to be alive_ _—_

“Hiyoko, Jesus, _stop_! Leave Mikan alone!”

Only then did Mikan realize Mahiru was here, too. Of course she was. She and Hiyoko were almost always together. Had Mahiru been here the whole time and Mikan was just too overwhelmed to notice? Mikan kind of hoped that wasn’t true, because if so, why did she wait so long to say anything?

“Aww, Mahiru,” Hiyoko stuck out her tongue, her playful, childish tone returning, “we’re just having some fun!”

“She is _not_ having fun!” Mahiru argued, gesturing at Mikan who was still shaking and crying. “This is not what fun is!”

“Okay, Mahiru!” Hiyoko said with a big smile that seemed to come too easily, probably just to get Mahiru to drop the subject. “Let’s grab some dessert!”

Mahiru made a flabbergasted noise. “We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“And that’s because I let this pig waste so much of our time! I’m sorry, Mahiru. Let’s go!”

Hiyoko skipped away without looking back.

“Wait, don’t apologize to me! Apologize to Mikan!” Mahiru called but she received no reply. Mahiru sighed heavily, rubbing the red strands out of her eyes. She looked to Mikan with a guilty expression on her face. “Mikan, I’m _so_ sorry. You know how she is. Please don’t take anything she says to heart.”

Mahiru always looked so ashamed and embarrassed when Hiyoko bullied Mikan, and Mikan knew she was trying her best to stop it from happening. But so far she hadn’t succeeded and probably never would. Even if Mahiru threatened to break up with Hiyoko it probably wouldn’t be enough.

Not that Mahiru would ever do that. Mikan didn’t matter to her that much. Mikan didn’t matter to anyone.

Mahiru gently squeezed her shoulder. “Have a good evening, Mikan. Stay safe. Again, I’m really sorry.”

Mikan watched Mahiru chase Hiyoko down the steps until they were out of sight. Mikan stood where she was in the middle of the pathway, staring at nothing until her tears dried and only the dull, stinging sensation remained.

Apologies meant nothing. People like Hiyoko were forgiven so easily even when they acted so vile. Even Mikan forgave her for it. Hiyoko had been so cruel to her for over five years now and even after all that torment, Mikan forgave her. Mikan always believed something made Hiyoko behave that way, that maybe one day Hiyoko wouldn’t be mean to her and things between them could change, so Mikan forgave her.

So why wouldn’t anyone forgive Mikan for merely existing? Why did they have to hate her so much that she ended up hating herself?

That went all the way back to her parents. To the first days in Mikan’s memories.

She hadn’t had contact with her parents since high school. They bullied her since she was a child so she knew that was for the best, even though sometimes she missed them for reasons she couldn’t explain.

Maybe it was guilt from never being good enough for them. Maybe it was some desire for their attention, even if it was negative, because at least that meant they acknowledged her existence.

They always said she was too clumsy to be a nurse. That she would never be useful to anyone. That she would never achieve her dreams or succeed in life. That no one would ever love her, never _truly_ love her. That she would never be happy.

Maybe they were right.

If she could never be loved or be happy... then what was the point? What was the point of anything?

The darker her thoughts became the clearer she recognized her ability to do something; something even someone as hopeless as her wouldn’t be able to mess up.

If she committed herself to this it would be so _easy_.

She could steal lethal drugs from her one of the school’s laboratories; she had more than enough knowledge of pills and solutions to know how much to consume. She could slit her wrists with a scalpel in the communal showers. She could hang herself when Ibuki wasn’t at their dorm, or jump out the window.

All those options had been considered before but right now the last sounded the most appealing.

Jumping. Yeah. That would be nice. Romantic, even. It would quick, painless, and she would be putting on an entertaining and unforgettable show for the whole school to see.

That was thoughtful of her, wasn’t it? Mikan was so thoughtful. Always thinking of others before herself.

Everyone would get to see her die and in those last seconds of life she would soak up their horrified attention, but she would be burdening them. She would be troubling the person destined to remove her corpse. She would haunt all of those who saw her fall.

No, she couldn’t inconvenience people like that. They deserved better. She didn’t deserve their attention; their pitying thoughts in her final moments. She didn’t deserve to be on anyone’s mind when she died.

She should... she should go somewhere no one would see her. Somewhere she wouldn’t be found for a long time. Somewhere she would be forgotten. Such an isolated fate suited a disgusting pig like her so much more.

Mikan looked up at her dorm building as she crossed campus and considered dropping off her bag, weighed down by school books and medical supplies. Would be easier to travel light. But Ibuki was probably in their dorm and Mikan would have trouble lying to her and then Ibuki would try and stop her. Ibuki was kind like that. Ibuki might be the only one that cared enough to look for her when she wouldn’t return tonight.

Ibuki was so kind. Perhaps the only kind person in this world. Mikan would miss her.

She hoped Ibuki wouldn’t be hung up on her for too long.

She walked past the dorms and blindly made her way over to the bus stop. A horde of other students were waiting there already, listening to music or chatting with their friends, probably excited to head home or go out clubbing or _anything_ other than what Mikan was planning on doing.

Mikan kept her distance. A few minutes went by as she waited for any bus to arrive and her vision began to blur, her mind wandered, and—

_I could just jump into traffic. No one would be fast enough to stop me._

_I should smash my face against the bus shelter glass. Everyone could see me bleed._

_What if I dragged my wrist along the sharp edge of that boulder those students are sitting on? How quickly would the cut get infected?_

_Maybe one of the students would shove me away if I hurt myself so close to them. How wonderful that would_ _—_

_Oh, there’s the bus. I’m seriously about to get on it and never come back._

Mikan shook her head. Bad thoughts. So many intrusive thoughts. Most days she could ignore them.

Not today.

The bus opened its doors and Mikan was going to wait for the worthier to rightfully step on before her but she was dragged along by the crowd despite her wishes. A part of her wanted to stop and take one last look at her campus but all of a sudden there was no time; only enough to flash her bus pass to the driver and then clumsily grab the closest pole to keep her balance—barely—as the bus began its route.

Mikan found herself drowning in a warm sea of bodies; a school of fish breathing the same stale air, all swaying and existing as a unit. She blended in. She wasn’t special. None of these people knew her and she didn’t know them. None of them knew what she was planning to do so none of them would try and stop her.

None of them would care that this was her last bus ride.

She watched every passenger when they left the bus, aware she would never see them again.

She forgot their faces moments later.

Several stops later when the crowd began to thin Mikan finally grabbed a seat—only when both seats were unoccupied, because she wouldn’t dare bother someone by sitting next to them.

She watched the buildings pass by in a blur, convenience stores and bakeries and fast food joints, and her stomach growled. Should she treat herself to one more meal? She could have just ate on campus but there was this quaint little restaurant across town she liked to frequent. Mikan tried to avoid eating too much fatty and sugary foods but she couldn’t resist this particular restaurant. It was small and cozy and not many people knew about it so Mikan liked going there when she wanted to be alone.

_If I keep eating there I’ll get fat and people will have even more reasons to bully me._

_But then even more people would pay attention to me. Wouldn’t that be lovely?_

_Hiyoko does call me a pig a lot. She’s right about me._

_I should spend all my money on a feast. Not like I’ll need money after tonight._

_No. That food should go to someone who will still be here tomorrow. It would be wasted on me._

Plus, eating right now would make her corpse much uglier if she had so much extra to defecate, as would happen after death when her muscles relaxed.

Then again, why would it matter? By the time someone found her she would be rotting away. All the odors would blend together until it combined into the meaningless, unbearable trash that represented her whole life.

Mikan took a deep breath, looking around the bus. There weren’t too many people left now—she must have been trapped in her thoughts for awhile. Most of them looked ready to fall asleep. No one on the bus was chatting to each other anymore.

Finding nothing interesting with the passengers, Mikan looked to the advertisements above the support beams. Ones for food, politics, suicide hotlines. All generic things that no one really paid attention to.

There was one that caught her eye, though. A fashion ad. Not that she cared for fashion—Mikan’s outfits were nothing noteworthy—but she did care for the fashion model _in_ the ad that had fluffy blonde pigtails, ice blue eyes and a dazzling pink smile.

That was Junko Enoshima.

Mikan remembered Junko Enoshima. Of course she did. How could she ever forget her?

Junko was... flawless. Well, maybe that wasn’t exactly true. She knew Junko could be really mean sometimes—Mikan saw Junko snap at people and bully them and spread rumours—but she had never been mean to Mikan.

Junko was beautiful and charismatic and confident and never let what people said get to her. She was strong and smart, a brilliant analyst, a natural leader, even if some people didn’t see that because of the crude way she spoke.

But Mikan saw that. Mikan saw _her_. Mikan would’ve followed her anywhere.

Back in high school when Junko walked by in the halls, clicking heels announcing her arrival, Mikan couldn’t help but stare. She knew she didn’t have to hide it because, well, everyone was always staring at Junko. She was a model even back then. She was gorgeous, never missing a beat and never stepping off the runway. A star constantly in the spotlight. Easily the most popular girl in their school.

Mikan always wished for the opportunity to talk to her, or simply for Junko to acknowledge her, but Mikan had no idea what she would have said at the time. Even now she didn’t know what she would say if she ran into Junko on the street. She doubted Junko even knew her name. She probably wouldn’t even recognize her.

They had only really engaged in one conversation; one that tended to spring to mind on Mikan’s worst days. Junko had sprained her ankle at school and Mikan always carried around emergency medical supplies, and Mikan’s instincts to help someone in that moment outweighed her shyness towards Junko.

_“H-here, this b-brace will help. Keep weight off it for a f-few days, okay? A-and you shouldn’t wear heels while it’s healing.”_

_“Do you always keep bandages and shit on you?”_

_“U-um... yes. J-just in case. If s-someone gets hurt I’ll always want to be able to h-help them.”_

_“Aw, so this isn’t just ‘cause you have a crush on me?”_

_“W-what? N-no, I...”_

_“Relax, girl! Loosen up those shoulders or you’ll get frozen that way like some hunchback. And hold your head up higher! Stare down at these peasants like they’re ants beneath your feet!”_

_“I-I can’t do that! Everyone is so much b-better than me. I-I just want to help them if I can, that’s all. I’m... really h-happy I could help you today.”_

_“You want to be a doctor or something?”_

_“A n-nurse. It’s always been my d-dream.”_

_“Well, if some jealous bitch ever shoves me off the runway and I break something, the cute nurse taking care of me better be you.”_

Just remembering about it had Mikan fighting back a smile.

Mikan used to have the biggest crush on her, to the point that Junko overtook nearly her every thought. She never told her, never had the courage or the self-confidence, but Mikan wouldn’t have been surprised if she knew. Mikan was never a good liar, and most people had a crush on Junko anyway, even if the crush was superficial. Junko was probably used to the attention by then. Even if Junko did know about Mikan’s feelings and singled them out of the crowd for some reason, clearly it didn’t affect her life whatsoever because they never spoke after that time.

Plus, rumour had it that Junko was dating someone in high school but Mikan never met him. He must have gone to a different school. Mikan had no idea if they were still dating but she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. That guy had no idea how good he had it. Mikan would’ve done anything to be held in Junko’s arms, to be kissed by her, loved by her. If they were still together, he better be appreciating absolutely everything that made Junko the amazing woman she was.

Mikan hadn’t seen her since high school but based on that ad, and others she saw in magazines and on YouTube, it seemed like Junko was doing well for herself. Mikan hoped Junko was happy wherever she was.

Mikan wished she could see her one last time. Apologize for not becoming her nurse.

...

Not like it mattered. No way Junko remembered that conversation anyway. It probably meant nothing to her.

Mikan didn’t realize she had ridden to the last stop until the driver asked her to leave as she was the only one remaining and the route was over. She spluttered a hasty apology—she was always inconveniencing others—and stumbled her way off the bus. The sun had long since set by now, leaving her shivering and alone under a navy sky and the flickering, fluorescent lights of the bus station. A few stragglers were waiting inside the stations but none of them looked up at her, content in their isolation behind the glass.

Mikan didn’t really know what to do from here. She’d never ridden the bus this far before. She didn’t know where she was or which direction to head. She could just wait for another bus and ride even further away. But she didn’t want to inconvenience people again.

So she wandered. Wandered until the road outstretched with few street lights and even fewer buildings, and soon there were none of either. Not a soul knew where she was or where she was going, not even herself.

Something was comforting in that.

Eventually the pavement under her feet gave way to earth, and the moon provided just enough light for Mikan to see a dirt road that branched off from the highway and curved behind a dense cluster of tall trees. Pulling out her phone and turning on the flash light, she carefully followed the dirt path until she was blocked by a chain link fence that stretched too far for her to see under this veil of darkness.

She shined her flashlight through the holes in the fence and saw a large, rundown building. Some sort of abandoned factory or sewage plant. Dangerous for sure. There probably wasn’t anyone in there, unless it was used for secret drug deals. That actually didn’t seem too farfetched given the appearance and hidden location of this place. Mikan did a quick look around for cars or other signs of life but, as expected, it was too dark to be sure of anything.

More dangerous than other people was certainly the building itself.

There could be hazardous objects inside, weapons and shrapnel, that would be difficult to spot in the dark, and maybe the whole structure could collapse if she stepped on the wrong spot or moved the wrong thing. The air could be contaminated and unsafe to breathe. There would be no running water or electricity. It would be extremely easy to injure herself and no one would be around to help her.

Mikan angled her light skyward. The roof was a few storeys up, flat and bordered with a seemingly waist-high metal railing, so it must be accessible. The door to the roof wouldn’t be locked.

No one would find her for a long time.

The gap in the fence gate was just large enough for her to squeeze through, yelping as her long hair caught on the fence and she ripped a few strands breaking free. Her heart thudded from adrenaline, from how dangerous this was, how she should not be doing this—but in the end, who cared? No one would find out until it was too late.

She didn’t want to care anymore. She just wanted to rest.

The front door was open— _permanently_ open Mikan realized as its hinges were busted, who could’ve done that?—and she wandered inside the building, using her phone light as a guide. Debris and garbage littered the floor. The air was stale and dusty and once again she pondered if it was safe to breathe. She did have a surgical mask in her bag, she always carried medical supplies with her, but why wear it? If she passed out from air pollution before she made it to the roof then her goal would still be accomplished, even if it wasn’t how she intended.

She warily made her way to the stairs, testing the first to see if it would collapse under her weight. It didn’t. She looked up and noticed she had a few flights of stairs to climb and hopefully all were functional so she could make it to the roof.

Her steps echoed in time with her heartbeat in the empty building. No turning back now. One final climb before an eternal fall. With her luck she would end up tripping off the edge before she meant to jump. Not that anyone could make fun of her for it; for being abysmally clumsy even with something like this. But either way, she could finally know peace.

The disappointment of failure wouldn’t matter once she was dead.

But once on the second floor she froze.

Was that a noise just now? It sounded like clicking. Footsteps? Heels?

No, couldn’t be. No one else was here. She was just imagining things. Her brain producing hallucinations in her final moments—it’s last chance of trying to scare her away from doing this.

Why should she be scared of paradise?

She continued upstairs. She kept her light pointed down in case of holes or blockages. Just one foot in front of the other.

_Don’t trip. There’s no one’s attention to grab by tripping anyways._

_No one to entice with a panty shot like the slut I am._

_I would think about that at a time like this._

_If I fall the right way maybe the person who finds my body could enjoy themselves._

_If they’re as sick in the head as me._

There, the door to the roof. It was unlocked as she hoped, a touch open in fact. As she expected. As she needed it to be.

Mikan reached out and her hand rattled the handle. Wow, was she really shaking this bad? Why? She had nothing to be afraid of. This was the best choice. It would be quick. It probably wouldn’t even hurt. All her suffering would be over.

She slowly pushed open the door to reveal a massive roof. She kept her light a bit in front of her steps so she wouldn’t trip on any pipes or equipment protruding from the ground.

Closer and closer to the edge she ventured, and—

Another click of heels.

Startled, Mikan raised her light to the source of the sound and there was...

No. It couldn’t be.

“Ju... Junko?”

Fluffy blonde pigtails swayed in the cool night breeze as the person turned around to face Mikan, ice blue eyes squinting at the light shining in their face.

She... she looked just like her. She looked exactly how Mikan remembered.

But that couldn’t be Junko. Mikan was hallucinating things again. Her brain was trying to convince her not to do this and what better way than by showing her the person she used to love. Because there was no way Junko could be in this forsaken place right now when Mikan was about to kill herself here, not to mention how Mikan had just reminisced about her earlier.

It was too coincidental. Too unfair.

“J-Junko, what are you d-doing here?” Mikan asked, voice raspy against her throat. “It’s d-dangerous.”

Hypocritical, sure, plus Junko had been known to be involved in unconventional and hazardous situations in the past, but this... this didn’t feel right. A cold stone settled in the lowest part of Mikan’s gut that screamed to her that everything about this didn’t feel right.

Junko never replied to her question. That was unusual and made Mikan more than a little nervous. Junko always had something to say; never wasted an opportunity to let her commanding, overpowering voice be heard. Mikan couldn’t remember a time Junko had ever been this silent.

Mikan couldn’t read the look on her face no matter how hard she tried. Not like she was ever able to before, but something about seeing Junko in such a bizarre state up on this roof in the middle of the night was frightening, paralyzing, and suddenly every cell in Mikan’s body demanded to know what was going on. Her main priority quickly shifted to making sure Junko was okay, whether this was a hallucination or not.

But Mikan’s examination attempts only yielded one horrific realization.

Junko was on the other side of the roof’s railing.

A piercing wail tore from Mikan’s lips with no inhibition.

“JUNKO, NO!”

Mikan rushed forward, arm outstretched, palm open and pleading, but she wasn’t fast enough. Junko let go of the rails, hair whipping around her face, and Mikan could do nothing but watch in unbridled terror as Junko plummeted headfirst towards the ground.

It felt like forever, like the fall was endless, like Mikan had been forced to watch her fall for years, but in reality only a moment had passed. Both the longest and shortest moment of Mikan’s life.

Junko fell beyond reach of Mikan’s light.

A sickening crunch battered Mikan’s eardrums.

Then no sound other than her thundering heart.

Mikan’s knees collapsed and she slid to the ground, clutching the same rails for support that Junko had before those fingers opened and Junko soared free like a diving falcon.

That... that didn’t happen. That couldn’t have just happened. Mikan did not just see Junko kill herself in the exact place and fashion she was about to.

There was no way this was real. Junko would never do that. Mikan didn’t know what Junko had been up to the past few years, or if some unfortunate personal things had happened to her recently, but still, there was _no_ way Junko would give up like this.

Junko was always so much stronger than her. Stronger than everyone. She would not do this. Mikan refused to believe it.

Mikan remained in shock for a few moments before she bolted down the stairs with shaky legs, using the railing so she wouldn’t trip and break her neck.

That would have been appealing five minutes ago. Not now. Not when something far more important mattered.

Mikan rushed past the debris and out the building, each step harder to take than the last as she ran along the walls to the back where Junko should be—or _shouldn’t_ be if Mikan hallucinated the whole thing. Her heart thudded in her ears and her chest squeezed impossibly tight as she panted. She was plagued by fear, more so than she ever remembered being. No bullying she endured could compare to this. No foreboding dread could compare to this. If she were lucky she would search the whole perimeter and everything would be fine and she wouldn’t... see... anything...

...

It was like Mikan had tunnel vision; everything at the edges of her sight became dark and smudged like a burnt photograph; ruined and unfocused and worthless compared to the disastrous focal point that she couldn’t wrap her head around.

A body was there. Junko was there.

Junko’s neck was snapped to the side, blood leaking from her lips and ears. Her arms and legs stretched and twisted at awkward angles, bones bulging from taut flesh. A crimson pool was expanding around her, a slithering and all consuming mockery of life. Moonlight reflected off blank eyes that stared upward, forever unblinking.

Mikan sank harshly to her knees, numb to the scrapes she would feel from that fall later. The tears rimming her eyes finally fell, like her hopes, like _Junko_ , like everything she had ever believed in, leaving salty trails of disappointment and despair down her cheeks.

_That would have been me._

_If I had gotten here five minutes earlier that would have been me._

_It should have been me._

_I... I can’t believe this. Why did she do this? She had so much going for her. The Junko I knew would never have done this. But... how much did I really know her? I only talked to her once. Maybe she kept a lot hidden. Maybe she secretly hated herself like I do._

Mikan crawled forward and checked Junko’s pulse even though she knew there was no point. None of her medical knowledge mattered now; anyone would be able to tell that Junko was dead. Of course Mikan wouldn’t feel any thumps against her fingertips. Of course she wouldn’t see that chest expand again. Of course Junko would never look at her again; speak to her again; acknowledge her again. Why did she bother to hope?

_I... I loved her, she was so full of life, and now she’s..._

Her stomach churned and Mikan stumbled away to vomit, only acid emerging that burned her esophagus since she skipped dinner. She heaved and coughed, tears and spit mixing with her puddle of bile. The stench of her contents combined with the wafting odor of copper only made her hack more until her insides were vacant and she wanted to curl up and deflate.

Disgusting. She was so disgusting. Why was she the one that got to live?

Mikan attempted to swipe at her mouth but her body was trembling so violently she could barely do so. No way could she climb to the roof again whether she wanted to or not. She was stuck in that spot with her mess and failure and despair and Junko’s bleeding, mangled corpse until something gave her a sign that none of this was real. Because it couldn’t be, right? Only then could she find the will to move again.

“Christ, my head hurts. A hangover already? _Really_?”

Mikan froze. What... what was that? Who talked just now? That sounded like Junko’s voice, only slightly distorted. But that couldn’t be. Junko was...

Gulping, Mikan peeked over her shoulder and held up her light source.

Junko’s corpse still lay in a bloody heap... but a blue, translucent form that looked eerily identical to Junko was sitting up in the exact same spot, their legs fusing together. The only other difference was this Junko’s bones weren’t broken.

“Wait, the fuck? Where am I? Did some ho drug me?” A hand slammed towards the ground but rather than solid collision, the limb slid right through the dirt. The owner of said hand didn’t seem to notice and kept complaining. “Muku-roach, get _over_ here!” They reached out their faintly glowing hands into the darkness like a child demanding to be carried. “Take me _home_ ; I have a headache!”

This could not be real. This was not happening.

Mikan began slowly backing away, unconscious to even doing so until her weight knocked over a nearby object that _clinked_ as it hit the ground. The head of the figure whipped towards the noise, staring with wide eyes at Mikan as if only just realizing she was there. Mikan sat fossilized, unable to look away from that piercing gaze.

The phantasmal figure frowned but looked amused.

“Damn, what’s got you pissin’ your pants? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to be decently lengthy so I would really appreciate feedback and support if you enjoyed the first chapter and are interested in seeing more! Thank you for your time, stay safe out there :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghost that looks eerily like Junko has appeared, but that can't actually be Junko, right? Mikan questions her sanity. She must be dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I really appreciate the support on the first chapter. I've been working really hard on this story and support from my readers is extremely encouraging.
> 
> Once again warning for heavy and suicidal themes, but now that Junko's around things will become more light-hearted.

Mikan screamed.

Then the figure screamed.

So Mikan screamed louder, squeezing her eyes shut and protecting her face with her arms.

“Why are we screaming?” the Junko-appearing phantom questioned between screams before she abruptly stopped screaming altogether.

Panting deeply, Mikan peeked through her quaking fingers and saw the translucent figure staring at her with a raised eyebrow, looking confused yet entertained.

Mikan was losing her mind. No way could this be real. Her brain was making this whole thing up. An elaborate hallucination to keep her from killing herself for just one more night.

Maybe this was one of those prophetic dreams meant to help her find her path; projecting what would have been her fate onto someone she cared about to convince her out of the idea.

It had to be something like that, right?

Because there’s no way that was...

Her throat was sore from crying and hacking but Mikan wet her lips, ignoring the revolting aftertaste of the bile she spewed, and forced herself to speak, even if she wasn’t ready for the answer.

“A-are you,” Mikan coughed again, pressing a trembling hand to her hollow chest, “J-Junko Enoshima?”

The figure blinked.

“ _Duh_.” A sneer. “Course I’m Junko fuckin’ Enoshima. Who else could look this hot?”

_That_ was the Junko she remembered. That was the way Junko usually spoke.

“Um—”

“Ding ding ding!” Junko thrust a fist to the sky. “No one, you’re right! Gold star for you, Miss... uh...”

Junko squinted at her.

“Who are you again? Did we meet earlier tonight? Or yesterday? I don’t know what fucking time it is anymore.” Junko winced, rubbing at her head before gesturing for Mikan to come closer. “C’mon, get right up in my business. It’s hard to see you in the dark.”

Mikan’s mouth was dry as she approached Junko—or whatever this thing was that was calling itself Junko. It did convincingly act and sound like her, but... still. It didn’t make any sense. Mikan was either dreaming or going insane. There were no other realistic options.

But she may as well go along with the situation, no matter how bizarre it was. Even if this wasn’t real, it... was still nice to hear Junko’s voice in person again. To have a conversation with her.

To have Junko acknowledge her.

Junko analyzed her closely and Mikan fought the urge to squirm.

“Do I know you?” Junko asked with a thoughtful tilt of her head.

Mikan had no right to feel disappointed by the question. She knew she wasn’t worth remembering and she shouldn’t have held any hope that her existence had lingered in the back of Junko’s mind.

“Wait.” Junko’s face lit up and she snapped her fingers. “Yeah, now I know why that pitiful look seemed familiar.” A grin stretched across her face. “You’re that nurse girl from high school, right? You helped me once when my heel snapped off and I twisted my ankle.”

Mikan’s heart skipped a beat. Junko... Junko remembered her? She remembered that moment?

“Hah! What a time. I should’ve listened to you. I walked in heels that weekend and fell again. Almost permanently damaged my foot. Would’ve ruined my modelling career.” Junko giggled. “So despairing, right?”

“Junko!” Mikan gasped, coughing a little. “W-why would you do that?”

Junko blew a raspberry. “Heels are my thing! You expect me to walk anywhere without ‘em?”

Mikan wrung her hands together, avoiding eye contact. “T-that’s really bad for your feet and posture...”

“But they make me look hot.”

Well, Mikan couldn’t deny that. Wasn’t just the heels that made that true, though; it was everything about the way Junko presented herself. Her style, her confidence, her alluring personality.

Everything about her has always been so attractive.

Mikan was putrid and boring in comparison; a tiny, forgotten fragment of an asteroid next to a giant, blazing sun, always visible and always bright. The gravitational pull of that sun always kept Mikan nearby, always kept her circling around, but she never got close enough to touch. It would have been dangerous to get closer, too close and she would have been consumed, but that was a fate Mikan would’ve died for.

Mikan didn’t deserve being this close to Junko, even in a dream.

When Mikan looked back Junko had leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. It took every ounce of willpower Mikan still had not to jump ten feet in the air, but no amount of willpower could settle the flight of butterflies in her gut.

“You’re Mikan Tsumiki, right?”

Mikan froze. She didn’t recall telling Junko her name, even back in high school.

“I-I didn’t think you k-knew my name.”

Junko gave her a strange look, like she had asked something extremely dumb. “I remember everyone I’ve gone to school with.”

Ah, so Mikan wasn’t special. Once again she had foolishly allowed herself to hope. Of course she didn’t stand out to Junko in any way, even as someone disgusting or annoying. To Junko she was just part of the crowd. A name on a list. The same as everyone else.

That should be preferable to being viewed as disgusting. But Mikan never saw it that way. At least being disgusting meant being noticed and acknowledged. Maybe Junko would’ve bullied her in high school if Mikan tried harder. After all, other students got bullied by Junko all the time. Why couldn’t Mikan have been that lucky? Why did Hiyoko have to be her biggest bully instead of Junko?

Being used as Junko’s doormat; as her personal punching bag... wouldn’t that have been wonderful? Maybe Mikan would have even looked forward to going to school.

But instead, other than that one blessed day, Junko never spared her a second glance.

Not that Mikan would’ve deserved it.

Suddenly Junko was really close to her again, a serious look in her eyes. “It’s obvious you’ve been crying but you look like you’re about to cry again.”

Mikan flinched. Being so emotional in front of Junko was humiliating and scary and somehow thrilling, but being so bluntly reminded of her tears brought more to her eyes. Everything made her cry. Any form of social interaction tended to end with her in tears. She was a crybaby.

She was pathetic.

“What’s up?” Junko continued, sounding curious rather than condescending. “You feeling despair without me? No fair!” Junko pouted, crossing her arms. “Did something fucked happen and I missed it? Spill the deets!”

Mikan’s jaw fell open. She sat there confused and flabbergasted for a few moments. “D-did something... h-how can you say that?”

“What do you mean?”

That question sounded pretty genuine. Maybe, somehow, Junko hadn’t realized her situation yet.

“Um. L-look down.”

Blinking, Junko did as requested, staring at the body beneath her.

“Wow, that really looks like me.” Junko chuckled dryly. “Muku-roach, is that you? You know that wig doesn’t fool people anymore.” A brief pause. “Wait,” Junko got on all fours and peered closely at the face of her corpse, “that _is_ me. Holy shit, look at my fucking neck. Am I dead? Damn, man. At least I died in something cute.” Junko went to touch her corpse with her hand and then gasped, raising her hand closer to her face. “Why do I look like a see-through smurf? Am I a ghost? That’s...” Junko grinned, “fucking _awesome_!”

... Huh? _That_ was her reaction to realizing she was dead? And that her spirit was here instead of where it should be? Mikan expected her to be angry and upset, which would have been reasonable for anyone else in this situation, not curious and overjoyed.

But Junko was never like anyone else, was she?

“Wait, if I’m a ghost, does that mean...”

Junko jumped up and instead of falling, she levitated in place.

“Yo, this is the _tits_!” Junko spun and posed in the air, laughing like a child at a playground, and something about it was so miraculous and wholesome that Mikan felt herself smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in... well, she couldn’t remember. Junko rested her hands behind her head and wore a wide grin. “I should’ve died a long time ago.”

Mikan flinched; that was a sentence her mind often recited on her worst days, and hearing it out loud in such a positive tone from the girl she used to love slammed Mikan back into harsh reality. There was nothing miraculous or wholesome about any of this.

“J-Junko,” Mikan began quietly, nervously, “w-why did you do it?”

Junko floated upside down and gave Mikan an innocent look. “Do what?”

Mikan chewed at her bottom lip. “W-why did you... k-kill yourself?”

Junko blinked.

“Huh?”

Mikan trembled, swiping away a tear that fell. “P-please don’t make me s-say it again.”

Junko shrugged, spinning right side up again. “Think I’d remember killing myself.”

Now Mikan was the confused one. “B-b-but you did!” Mikan insisted.

Junko shook her head. “You must be high. I definitely didn’t do that. But if you think I did those drugs must be _hella_ fresh.” Junko made grabby motions at Mikan. “Pass the goods, bitch.”

“J-Junko, I’m not high.” Mikan grew flustered, the pitch of her voice increasing along with her heart rate. “I-I was up there with you. I saw you jump.”

“Jump?” Junko seemed more alert now, looking up at the roof. Maybe she was finally taking this seriously. “You saw me up there?”

“Um, yes. Y-you say that like you didn’t see me.”

“I didn’t. I don’t remember even being up there.”

“You... looked r-right at me when I c-called your name.”

“Why were you up there?”

“W-why were you?”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Junko stated firmly, sounding extremely sure of herself, and Mikan’s words hardened in her constricting throat. Junko sighed, looking around. “Where the fuck are we anyway? I don’t remember coming here.”

“An a-abandoned building outside of town,” Mikan said. “Maybe there’s s-something on your phone that will remind you why you came here? A t-text message or something?”

Junko hummed in agreement, reaching to grab her phone from her blazer pocket only for her hand to fade right through her body. “What the...” Junko frowned, trying a few more times, but no matter what she did she couldn’t make contact with any solid object.

“Aaah,” Junko groaned, frustrated, “I can’t grab it!”

“H-here, um, I’ll c-check it for you,” Mikan offered, crawling closer to Junko’s corpse, gulping down more bile that threatened to soar up her throat from the nearness of Junko’s broken bones and the pool of blood still forming around her. “W-what’s your password?”

Junko grinned slyly, like she hadn’t been annoyed just a moment ago. “Wanna sneak a peek at my nudes, huh?”

“W-w-what?” Instantly Mikan’s cheeks were boiling. “N-no, I-I’d never, I—”

“Just twisting your panties girl, _relax_. You haven’t loosened up since high school, have you? Have a hunchback yet?”

“I-I’m fine, I-I just—oh.”

Mikan fished out Junko’s phone only to learn it had shattered from the fall.

“Welp,” Junko sighed, “that’s ass. I could’ve made mad cash with those nudes.”

Why was that her priority? What about figuring out why she came here?

Mikan fidgeted with her own phone. “M-maybe I should call the police?”

Wait, no, then she’d have to explain why she was here in the first place. She’d probably look like the culprit or be put in a psychiatric hospital for her suicidal thoughts. She’d probably get in trouble for being on this property, too.

“Who cares?” Junko spat. “I don’t give a shit how long it takes them to find my body. Sounds more fun if people wonder where I am for awhile, wouldn’t you say?”

“B-but all your fans and loved ones would be so w-worried about you. It would cause c-chaos!”

“Exactly!”

Mikan released a shaky breath, pressing her fingers together. Junko’s logic was completely beyond her. This entire thing didn’t make any sense. It couldn’t be real.

“Are you s-sure you can’t remember anything?” Mikan asked. “L-like how you got here or w-why you came here?”

“I mean, I remember drinking,” Junko said, hand on her chin. “My pounding head remembers that even if I don’t. Everything else is hazy. Got no memory of this place, though.”

Did Junko get blackout drunk? Was this seriously that simple? That she just happened to drink too much, wandered all the way to this place, somehow got up to the roof and passed out on the edge?

Junko did look kind of out of it when she looked at Mikan up on the roof, but it didn’t look like the eyes of a person under the influence. That look was so empty, but it was also the look of someone who knew what they were doing.

How could Junko just... forget that?

Was that how death worked? Did a dead person immediately forget how they died?

Plus, why was Junko’s spirit still here? It was crazy enough seeing Junko’s spirit in the first place, but why was she still here in the living world? If ghosts and the afterlife truly existed, shouldn’t Junko’s spirit have been pulled to a different dimension with the other deceased souls or something?

Mikan rubbed at her temples, her own head starting to pound. This had to all be a dream. Maybe Mikan never even came here. Maybe she never even had class today.

She would wake up tomorrow and learn that none of this was real. That Junko was alive and safe and not... this.

“You’re bleeding, by the way.”

“H-huh?”

As if on cue Mikan’s knees started stinging, or maybe they had been the whole time but she was too distracted to notice. A glance down proved her wounds were, indeed, bleeding, though only a minute amount.

Mikan didn’t like leaving injuries unattended, even small ones, and this whole area was hazardously unsanitary so she would have to be careful to not get an infection, but even that wasn’t enough to convince her to grab her cleaning supplies from her bag.

She was ready to plummet to her death a few moments ago. Why should an infection scare her now?

“If you had bandages on you back then I know you still have them now,” Junko said matter-of-factly, folding her arms. “Why won’t you use them?”

Mikan shrugged, feeling so much of her remaining energy vanish with her next breath, like smoke being washed away by the wind. “T-this is a dream. It doesn’t matter.”

“You think this is a dream?”

“W-what else could it be?”

“Reality, babe. Seems like both of us have had one fucked up night.”

Mikan didn’t know how to respond to that. Denying it would be pointless and so would confirming the truth since she didn’t know what the truth was.

All Mikan knew was she was tired. And she wanted to sleep.

“Well, I don’t really care if this is real or not, but at the moment I seem to be a ghost so I’m gonna go haunt the shit out of people.” Junko winked and waved. “See ya, Nurse Girl!”

Junko flew up and away without a second glance, just like in high school, just like how easily Junko left her life in the past, and suddenly Mikan was panicking and on her feet and reaching out and she couldn’t breathe and _please don’t leave_!

“J-Junko, wait!” Mikan cried, her shrill voice echoing amongst the trees. Mikan sobbed when Junko didn’t look back.

_Please... don’t leave me alone here. Don’t leave me with myself._

Then Mikan was in blinding pain, like her head was about to burst. She yelped, clutching at her head. The pain was so immense it brought her back to her knees and tears layered her cheeks and for a horrifying moment she thought her eyeballs would erupt inside her skull.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Mikan barely heard the cuss from the sky over the agonizing throbbing in her brain. “Why can’t I go any further than this?”

Mikan looked up and, through her blurry vision, saw a smear of bright blue against a navy backdrop that seemed to be bouncing off an invisible barrier.

“Christ, my head,” she heard Junko moan. “It wasn’t this bad a minute ago. Why the fuck is something pulling me backwards?”

Mikan stumbled forwards, wanting to be closer to Junko, _needing_ her to not leave. Mikan didn’t want to be alone; she couldn’t be trusted by herself.

She couldn’t lose Junko after finally seeing her again after all these years.

After a few more steps the throbbing in Mikan’s head vanished, leaving only a dull ache behind.

“Finally I can move forward again!” Even from the ground Junko’s groan was clear as day. “What the hell was that about?”

_No, don’t leave! Stay with me!_

Junko flew further away and almost just as quickly Mikan released another cry of pain simultaneously with Junko’s cry of annoyance.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” Junko yelled.

“Junko, _please_ , c-come back!” Mikan cried. “T-there’s something wrong!”

“You got that right.” Junko flew a few paces closer and, again, the pressure in Mikan’s head disappeared. Junko waved her arm wildly at this seemingly invisible barrier. “I can’t leave! I’m _not_ spending my afterlife stuck in a pigsty like this.”

“I-I don’t think it’s the building that’s stopping you. I... I think it m-might be me.”

“Well cut it out. I wanna go annoy people.”

“I-I’m not doing it on purpose! W-when you were a certain distance away from me I got this really bad migraine, l-like my head was about to explode. When you and I were closer again my p-pain went away.”

“You sure it wasn’t a fluke? I could test it again.”

“P-p-please don’t, that was extremely painful. The s-second time you tried to fly away the migraine came back, so I’m p-pretty sure I’m right.”

“Huh.” A short pause. “Well then. My bad, I guess.”

“I-I don’t know why,” Mikan wrung her hands, “b-but it seems like we’re stuck together. A-at least until we figure out what’s going on.”

Would Junko get mad at that? Mad at her? Yell at her, hit her, berate her for ruining her afterlife? Would Junko finally bully her?

Junko flew back down to hover by Mikan’s side and Mikan prepared for some form of outburst. Shouting, name-calling, slut-shaming, punching, kicking, cutting, burning, touching, she could take it. She would willingly take it from Junko.

_Just... please. Please acknowledge me._

“Well, that just means you’re not spending your _actual_ life at this pigsty ‘cause that would force me to spend it here with you. So wipe those tears and get off that cute ass of yours, Mikan! Let’s get back to civilization and spread despair. We deserve to treat ourselves after tonight, don’t you think?”

_She’s right, a pigsty like this suits a disgusting pig like me, and_ _—_

—wait, what? Junko wasn’t mad? Junko wasn’t going to bully her?

Instead, she was... kind? Compassionate, even?

_She called me by my name._

_How can she make my ugly name sound beautiful?_

“Treat ourselves,” Mikan parroted. “Okay. I-if you say so.”

“Attagirl! Let’s go, fuck this place.”

“W-wait,” Mikan glanced around anxiously, “you want us to just l-leave your body here?”

“Sure.” Junko shrugged. “Did you think I was joking before?”

“What?” Mikan gasped. “But... t-that’s horrible!”

“Despairing, isn’t it? A young woman’s body mutilated and left to rot in the middle of nowhere. Oh, how terrible! The longer it takes someone to find me the more chaos will erupt.” To Mikan’s horror, Junko leaned down and poked her corpse in the eye, watching her finger melt through it. Junko chuckled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna have popcorn ready when that happens.”

Mikan stroked her arm, anxiety building in her belly. “It... f-feels so wrong to leave your body here...”

Junko rose back to Mikan’s height and squinted at her. “Well, what were you planning to do about it? Carry me? Can you deadass look me in the eye and say you want to _carry_ my fucking slinky of a corpse all the way back to town? Like, I won’t judge you if you’re into that type shit, but people will think you’re a psychopath. Or that you killed me.” Junko blinked like an epiphany just came to her. “Actually, _did_ you? You did say you were up there with me and I don’t remember jack shit.”

Just the suggestion nearly made Mikan vomit again. How could Junko even consider that? Did Mikan look like the type of person that would hurt anyone but herself?

“W-w-what? N-no, of _course_ not! I-I would _never_ do something like that!” Mikan started shaking again and buried her hands in her skirt. “I’m d-devastated that this happened to you...”

Junko pouted. “That’s disappointing. The despair I could’ve relished from being killed by the same person who came to my rescue in high school. Would’ve been hilariously ironic too since you specifically helped me back then because I fell.” Junko shook her head, looking off into the distance. “Such a shame.”

How did that logic make any sense? She _wanted_ to feel despair? She would have preferred if Mikan had killed her instead of what actually happened?

Mikan didn’t have time to ponder this further as Junko’s perkiness returned like it never left. “Oh well, in the end I’m still maggot food. Doesn’t really matter how it happened. Time to go!”

How was she accepting this so easily? Mikan would have been freaking out if this happened to her—and she was still constantly aware that this could have been her if she arrived five minutes earlier. She wouldn’t have been able to handle being trapped here as a spirit when all she would have wanted was to eternally rest and be out of everyone else’s way.

But Junko didn’t seem to care at all. She was making the most of her situation, like she always did, even if her reasoning was beyond Mikan’s comprehension.

Junko had always been strong and mysterious like that.

Mikan couldn’t think of a way to safely transport Junko’s body, nor did she have a tool to dig a grave, so despite her guilt she was forced to leave Junko’s body behind at this abandoned building. Even if this whole thing was a dream it still made her feel uncomfortable and shameful, like she was betraying Junko somehow, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

Mikan walked to the front gate, not needing her phone light this time as the glow from Junko’s ethereal form lit the way like an oversized firefly. Junko faded through the chain link fence but, of course, Mikan didn’t have that luxury, so once again she sucked in a breath and squeezed through the gap in the gate.

Junko was smirking at her. “I’m surprised you fit through that with those tits.”

Mikan blushed. “T-they’re not that big...”

Junko cackled. “Don’t be embarrassed about it. Own that shit. Titties are power, like personal mind control devices. They bring men and women to their knees.” Junko squeezed her own massive breasts together, testing the sturdiness of the top button of her shirt.

Actually, was that a worry ghosts needed to have? Did they have to worry about their clothes ripping? Was anything capable of ruining their clothes to begin with? Junko definitely didn’t seem worried. Whether a ghost’s clothes could be ruined or not, Junko had probably shown off like this many times before and barely gave her actions any second thought.

“Use them to your advantage,” Junko continued with a wink. “Works every time.”

In Junko’s case Mikan believed it because she suddenly had trouble holding Junko’s gaze. She only remembered how to walk again once Junko turned around and flew ahead. Mikan sucked in a deep breath, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other instead of staring at Junko’s assets until they finally made it back to the road and Mikan retraced her steps back to town.

Mikan wasn’t sure how long they walked this dark, barren, monotonous path but it was long enough for Junko’s annoyed moan to drag behind them like a rusty anchor.

“Jesus, how far out in the boonies are we?” Junko asked, swinging a kick at a rock even though her foot dissolved right through it.

Mikan’s throat tightened, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “F-far enough that no one would find us.”

In the corner of her eye Mikan saw Junko give her a look, one that was no doubt analytical, one that could discover all of her deepest secrets, but she didn’t comment. Mikan was thankful because she had no idea how she would respond if Junko questioned her.

Only once back to civilization did Mikan realize something and almost panic. How would other people react seeing a ghost floating around? What if they caused a huge uproar just by walking around in public? What if someone called the police, or an exorcist or something? Mikan didn’t know what she would do if that happened. How was she supposed to explain this?

Luckily there weren’t many people on the streets this late at night, but there was a couple walking the opposite way as them and Mikan’s shoulders hunched up, biting her cheek as she waited for them to notice Junko.

Neither of the strangers looked at them, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Perhaps intrigued by this, Junko didn’t move out of the way and allowed the man to pass through her. Immediately the man’s teeth were noticeably clattering and he raised his hands to rub at his arms.

“You okay?” the woman with him asked.

“Y-Yeah,” he said. “Just got a real chill all of a sudden.”

“I told you to bring your coat, but of course you never listen to me...”

The two walked off but Mikan had stopped mid-step, stupefied.

Could they... not see Junko? Was Mikan the only one who could?

Mikan looked to Junko to see if this freaked her out as much as her, but Junko’s face was glowing with excitement.

“Oh, I’m gonna be able to pull the _best_ pranks on people. They’ll literally never see me coming.” Junko laughed, flying in circles around Mikan. “Being dead is great!”

Suddenly Mikan was more worried for anyone they would come across rather than herself. Junko was known for being devoted to her schemes. This probably wouldn’t be any different.

They walked a bit further in the direction of the bus station. Mikan carefully observed anyone they crossed paths with, but just like before no one seemed to notice Junko’s presence.

“Ooh, Mikan, there’s a bar!” Junko said, pointing across the street to one of the only establishments still open. “Let’s get a drink.”

“W-what?” Mikan asked. “A-aren’t you still recovering from a hangover?”

“Who cares? I’m dead.”

Honestly that was a fair argument, but Mikan was still concerned.

“C-can you even drink like that? You c-couldn’t even pick up your phone.”

“But picture it, Mikan! The despair of wanting a drink so bad but not even being able to pick up the bottle. Or, or, or! If I figure out how to do that but the drink itself spills right through me!” Junko wrapped her arms around herself and wore a manic grin. “Ah, amazing!”

Mikan glanced away nervously. “I-I don’t really drink that much.”

Junko pouted, her intensity instantly vanishing. “Aww, c’mon. Just one.”

“I-I have class tomorrow morning, Junko.”

Plus, after not having dinner and already puking her guts out earlier? Even with Junko’s begging there was no way Mikan was consuming alcohol.

Junko sighed. “You’re no fun.”

Mikan deflated. “I-I know.”

Mikan was only fun when she wasn’t sober. Lots of boys told her that.

“But you don’t need to drink if you don’t want to! There’s lots of other ways to have fun, and I’m sure we’re gonna have so much fun together, Mikan!”

Mikan’s head whipped towards her and Junko wore a shit-eating grin. There was no sarcasm in that grin, no mockery, just... something surprisingly considerate. Something Mikan never expected to see from Junko and especially never expected to see directed at her.

No one had ever said something like that to her before. No one had ever respected her boundaries like that. No one had ever sounded so excited to spend time with her.

Mikan would cherish those words, would replay them in her mind as often as possible, because she knew it wouldn’t take long for her boring self to ruin Junko’s enthusiasm and she’d never hear kind words like that again.

After what felt like forever they reached the bus station, and luckily for Mikan there was still one bus that ran this late at night that stopped at her school.

The bus arrived around ten minutes later and because of the hour there were very few people on the bus so Mikan stumbled her way to the free seats at the back. Normally she wanted people to look at her, to have eyes only for her, but right now she was a wreck physically, mentally and emotionally, and Junko’s eyes on her were already more than she could handle.

But while Mikan wanted to be alone, was content with the quiet, clearly Junko had other plans.

Junko floated over to the nearest passenger and tried knocking the book out of his hands. Her hand faded right through it and Junko huffed. She tried several more times with increasing frustration before calming and simply placing her hand on the book. A look of concentration settled on her features and then, all of a sudden, the book leaped from the man’s hands and fell to the floor.

The man jumped. “What the...” he murmured to himself. He looked around nervously before picking up his book.

“Look Mikan,” Junko said excitedly, “I did it! I’m a god!”

Looks like people couldn’t hear Junko, either.

“Y-you’re a ghost,” Mikan whispered.

“Same diff to these peasants.”

Junko hovered towards the passengers at the front of the bus.

“ _Junko_ ,” Mikan hissed under her breath. “W-what are you doing now?”

“Just causing a little chaos.” A grin tattooed itself across Junko’s face. “I won’t hurt them, I promise.”

Feeling self-conscious that others would think she was talking to herself, Mikan pulled out her phone and pretended to make a call, pressing her phone to her ear so she could speak out loud to Junko without looking suspicious.

“J-Junko, please quit bothering people!”

“Why should I care if I’m bothering them?” Junko looked over her shoulder to meet Mikan’s gaze with hard eyes. “I don’t exist to please them.”

Mikan’s heart throbbed. Maybe she should take those words to heart even if Junko’s telling of them wasn’t exactly morally correct. Just earlier that night she refused to scoop up a free seat just because she didn’t want to bother the person sitting adjacent.

“Besides,” Junko continued, “they have no idea what’s happening here. It’s harmless.”

“It’s r-rude!” Mikan feebly argued.

There was that shit-eating grin again that made Mikan’s heart skip a beat. “But _hella_ entertaining, right?”

Junko pulled a man’s hat down over his eyes and laughed hysterically as he jumped and whipped his face around, looking for the culprit. Mikan whimpered and covered her eyes with her hand, flushing from second-hand embarrassment and wishing she could be invisible like Junko, too.

Knowing she couldn’t stop Junko’s playtime, and still overwhelmed by Junko’s presence in general, by this whole night, Mikan lowered her phone from her ear and checked her notifications.

Four texts from Ibuki spanning over the past few hours.

**_Ibuki Mioda:_ ** _mikan r u coming home 2nite??_

**_Ibuki Mioda:_ ** _its cool if ur staying somewhere else plz just let Ibuki know!!!_

**_Ibuki Mioda:_ ** _mikannnnnnn_

**_Ibuki Mioda:_ ** _night nurse??? hellooooooo???_

Any high Mikan savoured from Junko’s charm and earlier compliments faded to mist, unable to be harnessed again. She had worried her best friend so much. Mikan never felt her phone vibrate earlier—she should have since she was holding it so often for the light—but even if she had the odds of her checking it were slim.

Or maybe she _had_ felt her phone vibrate and ignored it on purpose. She couldn’t rule out the possibility with how cloudy her mind’s been all night. After all, who would bother texting her other than Ibuki? And Ibuki was the only person that could’ve talked Mikan out of doing what she attempted tonight, and Mikan didn’t want her decision postponed, so for a short while she had to pretend that the one person who would’ve missed her didn’t exist.

Then Junko came along and postponed her plan anyway. So in the end, Mikan just gave Ibuki anxiety tonight for nothing; anxiety that would only get worse. Even now, regardless if Ibuki was still awake or not, Mikan couldn’t bring herself to reply to those concerned messages.

She was a terrible friend.

It was instinct rather than a conscious decision when Mikan got off the bus at her college as she was unresponsive to most of the world around her; too lost in her deprecating thoughts. No one was out at this time so Mikan didn’t have to worry about bumping into people, proven beyond any doubt when Junko floated in and out of Mikan’s vision, huffing in disappointment from an unsuccessful hunt for prey to pull pranks on. She saw Junko’s mouth move but honestly didn’t hear much of what she was saying—which Mikan hated herself for, Mikan cherished every syllable that flowed from Junko’s tongue, would’ve done anything to have Junko speak to her like this back in high school, but right now...

She just felt numb. And she wanted this day to be over.

Ibuki was asleep when Mikan got back to her dorm. Ibuki had passed out in her clothes on top of her covers and the lamp on her bedside table was still on. She must have stayed up waiting for Mikan to come back but lost herself to exhaustion.

Mikan felt a dull ache in her chest. Ibuki was so kind. Mikan didn’t deserve her kindness and friendship. Ibuki would be happier without her and then she would find a much more suitable person than Mikan to call her best friend.

Putting others before herself. That was Mikan, down to the bone. As long as others were happy then it didn’t matter what happened to her. She would die for others and she was completely willing to do that tonight, wasn’t that amazing? Mikan was so... thoughtful...

She didn’t even bother changing into her pyjamas before shrugging her bag off her shoulders, flicking off the light and collapsing into bed. All she wanted was to sleep; to escape this world and the torment it brought her; escape from the slithering echoes of her bullies’ accurate statements that her own poisonous mind salvaged and amplified, even if tonight’s escape was only temporary.

She just wanted her thoughts to _stop_.

“Bedtime already?” Junko asked, as if the middle of the night was too early or something.

Mikan glanced up to see Junko admiring what little possessions she owned but chose not to reply.

“No problem, clearly you had a long day. I’ll just browse through your stuff while you’re sleeping. I’ll keep it a secret if I find your porn stash.” Junko giggled and offered a big smile and a wave. “Night, night!”

None of this fazed Junko at all, did it? She was dead and was forced to follow Mikan around like a shadow and was confined to stay near her while she was sleeping, yet she was acting like none of this was a big deal. Like this was just another typical day in her life. Like Mikan wasn’t burdening her at all.

Like this wasn’t the most insane, crippling, and emotionally-taxing scenario Mikan had ever experienced.

Mikan sighed, too exhausted to be embarrassed by Junko’s words or be frustrated by her puzzling, laidback demeanor. She whispered a gentle, “Goodnight, Junko,” before shoving her face into her pillow and closing her eyes.

_I have to be dreaming. This ridiculous nightmare will be over when I wake up._

_Spending time with Junko was... fun, despite the circumstances. I never thought I would get to see her again. She’s exactly like I remember her. Beautiful and confident. Charming. Doesn’t let anything get to her. Makes my heart pound like crazy after all these years, too._

_But I know none of this is real._

_When I wake up my day will reset, Junko will be gone, healthy and alive and far away from my pathetic self like she deserves to be, and I can attempt my plan again tomorrow. It’s... it’s better this way. Everyone is better off without me._

Junko began softly humming to herself and Mikan chomped down on her lip, pulling her blankets over her head to mute the soothing sound of that voice she sorely missed for the past three years.

_There won’t be any distractions this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know if you enjoyed and want to see more. The motivation really helps <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikan struggles through her first day with Junko by her side. She still can't believe this is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning for suicidal thoughts. That's gonna be constant for a good chunk of the story because of Mikan's depression and references of what happened to Junko, so I won't put that warning anymore after this unless the trigger for it would be more intense.

Her body felt barren, weightless, like her insides had melted away and evaporated through her pores. Her essence became the wind that pushed the dark, billowy clouds from the sky, leaving her shivering and lonely under a blanket of navy blue.

The moon was large and bright, a beacon in the darkness, creating a path for her to follow. So she walked, each step taking far too long like she were stuck in slow motion, until she reached the edge of the world barred by a waist-high metal fence. Beyond the edge was a white, smoky wall, like she were trapped in a box; a pocket dimension created to contain her and she wasn’t allowed to explore beyond its boundaries.

“Mikan, why didn’t you get here faster?”

The sky suddenly splashed neon pink, and when Mikan turned around she saw Junko standing at the door to the roof.

“I’d still be alive if you weren’t such a coward. You could’ve saved me,” tears crept down Junko’s cheeks, each trail forming a molten crack in Mikan’s heart, “but you let me die.”

Junko stalked closer, each click from her heels sending out a shockwave that crumbled the ground behind her; like it had no reason to exist once Junko moved on.

“N-no, I... I tried to s-stop you!” Mikan cried, her voice sounding raspy and far away, like it didn’t emerge from herself but rather someone else. “If I k-knew you were here, I-I would’ve came faster!”

Junko’s heel snapped and she crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll. She threw her broken shoe into the pink chasm behind her, stood back up and kept walking—unbalanced—like it never happened.

“I’m hurting, Mikan. I’ve always been hurting.” Mikan felt the clicks of the remaining heel like stabs to her chest. “Why couldn’t you see that back then? I thought you wanted to help people. Why didn’t you help me more?”

“I... I-I didn’t know... I-I swear I would’ve h-helped you if I knew. Please f-forgive me, J-Junko.”

Mikan shamefully looked down, she couldn’t bear looking at the one person she feared disappointing this badly, and suddenly she was on the other side of the rails.

Her body felt so heavy, as if weights were attached to her limbs and pulling her down. Her legs were too heavy to move so Mikan’s hands desperately clung to the rails, fingers trembling against the cold metal.

When she looked back up Junko’s tears turned to blood, followed by a horrifying flow of crimson from every other orifice. When Junko opened her mouth to speak again, her teeth were stained red.

“It should’ve been you.”

Junko warped in front of her and slammed her hands down on hers, sharp, acrylic nails digging into Mikan’s skin. Mikan cried out from the pain, her fingers twitching and loosening their hold on the rails, her weight now held solely by Junko’s agonizing grip.

“ _Mikan_.” That voice was suddenly sickly sweet, caressing Mikan’s soul and filling her mouth with thick, poisoned honey. Dark eyelashes fluttered as Junko’s gaze shifted between Mikan’s eyes and her lips. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

She couldn’t resist. She let that honey slide down her throat and infect her like a parasite.

“Y-yes!” Mikan panted. She trembled under Junko’s attention and control. “Anything!”

Junko’s lips came so close that Mikan tasted blood on her own.

**“Then die for me.”**

Claws dug deeper and then ripped free, arcs of blood shadowing the harsh flow of her fingers, as Junko shoved her off the railing. Mikan screamed, frantic gaze locked to Junko’s swirling eyes and devilish grin as she fell, and fell, and—

...

Mikan gasped awake, bolting upwards, blankets pooling around her legs. She panted deeply, holding a hand to her throat as her heart thundered in her chest. Her eyes darted around, quickly angling down to see if she had bloody crescent imprints in her hands.

No marks.

She inhaled a large breath and released, closing her eyes and holding her face to ground herself.

She was in her dorm room. She was okay. It was just a nightmare; a continuation of her previous nightmare or one that spawned from her hallucinations last night.

Either way it was horrible.

That look in Junko’s eyes; icy caverns of malice and despair. She almost looked like a different person—a person that scared Mikan. But it didn’t mean anything. She knew the real Junko wasn’t like that. Junko wouldn’t say things like that to her.

Mikan would just say them to herself. That dream was just her guilt personified as the girl she used to love. Her brain knew how to torture herself best.

Speaking of Junko, Mikan gave another glance around her room now that she was calmer.

Junko wasn’t there. No sign that she had ever been there. All of Mikan’s belongings were exactly where they should be. Nothing was out of place.

So everything that occurred last night wasn’t real. Junko didn’t die. Mikan didn’t let her die. Junko was safe. Everything was okay. Mikan could forget about everything that happened yesterday and attempt her plan again to—

A blue phantasmal figure popped headfirst out of Mikan’s mattress.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Nurse Girl!”

Mikan screamed, falling face first out of bed with her legs flailing in the air.

“Then again, it’s a little ironic for me to be saying— _o_ _ooo_ , thanks for the panty shot!” Junko laughed, but her laughter was playful rather than mocking. “I wish all my mornings could’ve started like this.”

Mikan whimpered and scrambled to cover herself, cheeks burning. So many people had seen her in that position before but there was something extra embarrassing about Junko seeing her like that. Even if Mikan _was_ an attention whore she didn’t want Junko thinking that about her.

It was easy using her clumsiness to gain the attention of people she wasn’t attracted to, it didn’t even faze her, but performing the same acts around the girl she used to have a major crush on? That made her nervous. She wasn’t sure what scared her more; if the attempt worked and Junko treated her like all the other perverted bullies, or if Junko was indifferent and thought she wasn’t worth looking at.

But Junko... did neither? She didn’t ignore her but she didn’t deprecate her, either. She just made a lighthearted comment and that was it, like when good friends teased each other if one of them tripped or something. Nothing malicious about it.

Just... playful. Mikan wasn’t used to that.

She shyly met Junko’s gaze and her eyes were so bright, so lively despite her form, nothing like the eyes of the Junko in her dream. Was it possible for two drastically different versions of the same person to exist? That intimidating figure, that despairing aura... was that who Junko truly was? Was that how Mikan would eventually see her? If alternate realities existed, was that how Junko appeared to those around her?

“Is there something on my face?” Junko blinked innocently, cocking her head. “You’ve been staring at me for awhile. Not that I blame you.” Junko moved to brush something off her cheek but her hand faded right through her face. “Whoa, that’s trippy as hell.”

Junko shoved her whole hand into her cranium and wiggled her fingers around like a tarantula. She pulled out her hand and stared at it, balling it into a fist, almost looking disappointed that no brain matter was glued to her nails.

“Probably a good thing living people can’t do that,” Junko chuckled, “‘cause you know I would’ve tried a long time ago.”

Intimidating, illogical and mysterious? Yes, Junko truly was. But scary, _truly_ scary, like in Mikan’s nightmare? No way. Not to Mikan, at least.

Wait, Junko was still here? Mikan’s brain finally caught up to what she was witnessing. How did she not clue in to this earlier? If Junko was here, then that meant...

“L-last night was r-real?” Mikan questioned, eyes widening. “You’re r-really dead?”

Junko sighed, sounding bored. “Didn’t we go over this pretty thoroughly last night?”

Mikan shook her head. “No, this c-can’t be. I-I’m still dreaming. T-t-this can’t be real, it...”

Mikan moved to stand and noticed her scraped knees, each tattooed with a circle of crusted blood. They didn’t hurt anymore, but... they were a doubtless sign that last night really happened. Physical proof. She didn’t have these injuries at school yesterday, didn’t have them before getting on the bus, so she only could have acquired them when she fell to her knees at the abandoned building, right?

She couldn’t deny it. Last night truly happened. Mikan was really about to kill herself and only didn’t succeed because Junko beat her to it—even though Junko kept denying what she did. More than anything else, that baffled Mikan the most. There was no other way to describe what she saw. Junko clearly reacted when Mikan called her name, climbed over the railing herself, and willingly let go. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry out, didn’t make any implication that she regretted her choice or was unaware of what she was doing.

Yet Junko was so adamant that she didn’t do that. It didn’t seem like she was pulling Mikan’s leg. She was serious. How could that be?

“What is happening?” Mikan murmured, more to herself than to Junko.

“Divine intervention!”

Mikan was startled by the sudden loud response. “H-huh?”

“I dunno, just felt like saying that.” Junko shrugged, sneering. “I have no fucking idea.”

Mikan felt her lip start to tremble. “I didn’t... I-I didn’t want this. I’m so s-sorry, Junko. It’s a-all my fault, i-isn’t it?” Mikan hiccupped, tears forming behind her eyes. “I-it’s always m-my fault.”

“Don’t start that,” Junko said a little harshly. “For better or worse, this shit is real. I’m dead for some reason—”

“You k-killed yourself,” Mikan interjected.

“I _didn’t_ , quit acting like I did. You were loopy last night too; you were probably seeing things. And we’re stuck together. Nothing makes sense but that’s our reality right now.”

Mikan didn’t know what to think. It was too early in the day for her to think this hard. Nothing made sense to her anymore. She just wanted to go back to sleep.

Not that Junko would let her. She was probably bored out of her mind while Mikan was sleeping, and Mikan knew Junko hated being bored.

So Mikan wiped away her tears and busied herself with cleaning up her wounds and placing some bandages on her knees. If she knew she would still be alive right now she would have just treated them last night. Then she stood and turned to face Ibuki’s side of the dorm and—

Wait. Mikan had been so caught up about Junko that she didn’t even bother to check with Ibuki. It hadn’t even crossed her mind to check whether Ibuki was still there or not.

Too late to worry now. If Ibuki had been there she definitely would have spoken up when Mikan had seemingly been talking to herself. Sure enough, Ibuki’s bed was empty—and messy, blankets and pillows and plushies scattered everywhere, as it always was.

“Your punk roommate left not that long ago,” Junko said. “I watched her brush her hair for like two hours. That girl fucking _sheds_.” Junko attempted to grab the loose multi-coloured strands clinging to Ibuki’s blanket. “Rip the shower drains on this floor.”

Ibuki must have class this morning. Mikan should’ve known that right away. It wasn’t that hard to memorize your roommate’s schedule.

Oh, there was a note on Ibuki’s bed. The handwriting was bold and messy, scrawled with a purple, glittery gel pen. Ibuki loved those pens. She’d been using them since high school, even when the teachers tried to get her to stop and use regular ones.

Ibuki heard them of course but always chose not to listen. Mikan kind of admired her for it.

Mikan picked up the note to get a closer look, reading the words in her head.

_“Was so happy to see you in bed!! You’re so cute when you sleep ^o^”_

Mikan felt a chill behind her, a coldness that sunk right into her bones; Junko must be reading the note over her shoulder.

“That’s a little creepy, isn’t it?” Junko commented.

Mikan shook her head. “N-not when Ibuki says it.”

She continued reading.

_“Please reply to Ibuki’s texts next time okay??? Ibuki was worried about you.”_

Mikan sighed, guilt pooling uncomfortably in her stomach. All she had to do yesterday was send Ibuki a text when she was on her way home. It only would have taken a few seconds and Ibuki could have rested easy last night.

Then again, Mikan had been planning to kill herself without any warning. Ibuki would have wallowed in her anxiety for way longer than one night if Mikan had actually gone through with it. And even knowing that, Mikan still would have done it.

Mikan was such a bad friend. Ibuki deserved so much better.

Mikan placed the note on her bedside table and caught a glance of the time on her alarm clock. She had her first of two lengthy classes in the next hour that would stretch into late afternoon. She was almost thankful for her horrible nightmare waking her up because she was so exhausted and defeated last night she forgot to set her alarm. And she was still in her dirty clothes from yesterday. No doubt she looked terrible, even by her pitiful standards.

A part of Mikan wanted to go back to sleep—why face the world when she could collapse in bed and pretend for a little longer that none of this was real—but getting those attendance marks and good grades mattered just enough for her to pull herself together.

“I-I need to change,” Mikan said, pinching her dirty shirt. “Can... c-can you please l-look the other way?”

Junko looked amused. “I mean, I already saw your panties.”

Mikan whimpered, hiding her reddening face in her hands. How could she let Junko see her in such a shameful position? It was so embarrassing.

Junko chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I’ll turn around. Tell me when you’re done.”

When Mikan looked up again Junko had indeed turned around, hovering cross-legged and facing the wall. Mikan didn’t entirely expect Junko to listen. She seemed more like a “we’re both girls, why does it matter? Let’s compare boob sizes!” kind of person. Junko was always full of surprises, whether they were chaotic or considerate.

Junko wasn’t always... nice. Mikan knew that. She was quite nasty to other people in high school and often spoke very bluntly and mockingly. But there was more to her than that; she had sides that Mikan knew other people would never get to see. She didn’t get mad for being stuck by Mikan’s side, she didn’t force Mikan to drink, and now she respected her privacy for changing her clothes?

Most people would have expected the opposite reaction from Junko in every circumstance, Mikan included. Mikan didn’t really understand the way Junko’s mind worked, couldn’t understand no matter how hard she tried, but maybe she wasn’t meant to. Maybe Junko would be an enigma until her dying br—

She shook her head forcefully. Never mind.

Mikan reached into her closet, planning on wearing whatever she pulled out first. Fashion didn’t matter to her. People would make fun of her no matter what she wore.

Wait.

Did... did she have any outfits that were appealing? Any that Junko might like?

Mikan felt her cheeks heat up. What was she thinking? Why would that even matter? Junko was dead, and even if she wasn’t, Junko would never be interested in someone as disgusting as her. Plus, Mikan didn’t know if Junko was still with her boyfriend from back in high school.

Mikan figured she wasn’t though, simply because Junko probably would have brought him up by now—in the sense that he should be made aware of what happened to her. But since Junko hadn’t said anything like that yet, nor seemed worried in any way, Mikan had to assume he wasn’t around anymore.

Or maybe Mikan was foolishly hoping a little too much again, to the point where she wasn’t even sure what she was hoping for. She was so pathetic.

Mikan wasn’t even—she _shouldn’t_ be in love with Junko anymore. Mikan wasn’t in the mental state to be with anyone. She tried to kill herself last night. She still wanted to kill herself. It took everything in her not to fling herself out the dorm window like she considered doing yesterday. Why was she worrying about impressing Junko? That should be the last thing on her mind.

And even still, she hesitated when looking herself over in the mirror and smoothing out her chosen outfit of a blue skirt and yellow top. Her throat felt dry and lodged with cotton when she finally gave Junko permission to look.

Those sharp eyes roamed her up and down. Mikan shivered, switching her weight back and forth between each leg.

Junko raised an eyebrow and clicked her tongue. “Is that all you have?”

Mikan withered. She gripped fistfuls of her skirt. “I...”

“Nah,” Junko dismissed with a wave of her hand, “let me look in your closet.”

Junko flew to Mikan’s closet and rummaged around, grunting as she struggled to grab and adjust some of the items with her ethereal hands, probably because they were packed so close together.

“Ooo, try this one.” Junko offered her a white and pink top that had been buried near the back. Mikan found herself staring more at the perplexing way those long, translucent fingers faded through the garment yet still kept a hold of it rather than staring at the shirt itself. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn around again.”

Mikan did as she was told, discarding her yellow top for the chosen white and pink one. Mikan looked herself over in the mirror again and honestly didn’t get what the difference was, other than this shirt was a bit tighter around her bust, but she trusted Junko’s judgement. She was a model after all, plus Junko always looked stunning no matter what she wore.

Junko stared at Mikan over her shoulder through the mirror and squealed, her whole face lighting up.

“There we go! These colours go much better with this skirt, see?” Junko gave a toothy grin. “Much cuter now.”

Mikan blushed, heart skipping a beat. Cute?

“Okay!” Junko announced loudly, crashing Mikan’s thoughts to a halt and making her jump; Junko’s tone shifting so easily like she didn’t just say something that shook Mikan’s world. Junko backed out of Mikan’s personal space and pointed to the door. “Let’s go prank some people.”

“Junko!” Mikan chided while packing her bag. “I-I have class.”

“Sounds like a perfect opportunity to me. We can both take notes, but in my case I’ll be stealing notebooks from your classmates. I’ve never been more stoked to go to class before.” Junko hopped through the closed door beyond Mikan’s sight. “This is gonna be so much fun!” echoed from the other side.

Mikan pinched her nose, releasing a shaky breath. A long and unpredictable day awaited her, didn’t it? And she was going to spend the entirety of it with Junko Enoshima. Someone she used to love. Someone she still didn’t know how to properly talk to. Someone she knew she didn’t deserve to talk to. She would have killed for this opportunity in high school, but never did she think it would happen like this.

Thanks to the constant bullying Mikan’s days were never as quiet and peaceful as she desired, but with Junko around, and with no one else able to see her, Mikan had no doubt her days were going to become unceremoniously chaotic.

After a quick trip to the washroom to freshen up and make herself look presentable—presentable for her, at least—Mikan hurried to her first class, pretending to be on a call the whole time so she could respond when Junko said something. And to call her out when Junko tried bugging people.

Mikan didn’t have that luxury in a classroom setting.

Mikan could barely focus in either of her classes. She tried to pay attention to what her teachers were saying to take notes accordingly, but how was she supposed to do that when Junko was constantly flying around and distracting her?

Junko messed with everyone. She didn’t hurt them or anything but certainly made them question their sanity—Mikan’s, too—especially in the morning class where most students felt dead already. She’d push their pens off the tables, shift around their books, even tipped someone’s glasses off their nose. Little pranks that had Junko cackling that were just enough to make everyone think they were seeing things.

Junko messed with the teachers, too. She’d tap the keys on their computers to shift the slides in their presentations to startle them. At one point she maxed the volume on the computer and then clicked something that made a jarring noise, waking up anyone who had been dozing off in class. By the end of it the teachers looked frightened by any piece of technology and even unplugged their computers all together.

Even though no eyes were on her Mikan still wanted to sink into the floor. She wasn’t doing anything wrong but she knew this was happening because of her previous choices. Rumours would spread about this quickly merely for how strange it was—and how it seemed to get more students to pay attention. How could Mikan act like she knew nothing about this paranormal occurrence if she were questioned?

She’d slip up. She knew she would. She knew she was terrible at lying when confronted directly. And then they would think she was crazy, and once again the thought of being admitted to a psychiatric hospital had Mikan praying to become invisible like Junko.

The first half of her day couldn’t have passed any slower. As Mikan’s second class finished up late that afternoon the teacher himself was the first one out the door while Mikan remained glued to her seat, hiding her head in her arms while the students around her shuffled out.

“Ah, what enriching classes those were,” Junko said dreamily. Mikan looked up and saw her slowly spinning on one of the tables, arms thrown dramatically wide as if she were performing for an audience greater than one. “Education is priceless as they say, except for every kid here that’s gonna be in debt for the next twenty years.” Junko plopped down in front of Mikan, swinging her legs back and forth. “You in debt too, Mikan? Or did mommy and daddy pay your tuition for you?”

The awkwardness twisting in Mikan’s chest morphed to discomfort and bitterness.

As if her parents would ever help her achieve her dreams. The only time they ever gave her money was when they needed her to run out and buy emergency supplies that they didn’t want to get themselves. Any time she asked for money for anything, even for important things like school and medical supplies, they often told her to go whore herself on the corner if she wanted cash that badly.

“I-I applied for a student loan,” Mikan murmured after the final student exited.

“So you’re fucked, too.” Junko sighed. “If we’re stuck together for the rest of your life I’ll let you use my modelling money to pay that off. Not like I need the cash anymore.” Junko looked solemn for a split second before her face lit up again. “Rent’s free and everything’s up for grabs now!”

The rest of Mikan’s life? There’s no way Junko’s spirit could remain in this world that long, right? Would something happen to her, to both of them, if Junko stayed here too long? There had to be consequences for something this unnatural remaining unchecked for too long. There had to be some reason why Junko was trapped here and trapped close to Mikan specifically.

Mikan needed to know. There had to be information out there that could help her figure this out.

The easiest way to research anything and everything to do with spirits and the afterlife would be to go back to her dorm and use her laptop, but she didn’t want Ibuki asking questions—nor did she want Junko bugging Ibuki. She also considered heading somewhere out of the way and using her phone, but once again since she was so exhausted last night it completely slipped her mind to charge her phone, so it was probably going to die the second she needed it. There were small computer labs across campus Mikan could use but those were always claustrophobically full and used for important matters such as writing essays or when students needed to print something.

That left the school’s library.

Mikan was fond of the library. It was quiet and carried the comforting smell of old books, and as long as she didn’t linger in the dangerous back isles for too long where it was easy to get cornered, no one would be able to bully her without the librarian chewing them out. Not actually for bullying her—no one cared when she was being hurt—but for being too loud.

There had to be some books there about ghosts, right?

She made her way there a few minutes later and was surprised by the selection. The majority of the archives in this library were meant to aid in classes, whether for studying literature itself or providing sources for essays, but there actually was a quaint little section for books about spirits and life beyond death. Maybe they were geared towards anthropology students that studied folklore and culture.

Mikan picked a few at random and piled them in her arms but gasped as the last one slipped from her clumsy fingers and tumbled towards the ground. That would echo in this hushed library and everyone would stare at her and judge her and her fight-or-flight response was already kicking in.

Suddenly she was warped back to last night watching Junko fall. Everything moved in slow motion. Mikan had reached out, skin stretched taut, fingers trembling, but she couldn’t reach her. She wasn’t fast enough. She couldn’t save her. Couldn’t do anything but watch her fall, and fall, and—

Junko zoomed forward and grabbed the book before it could slam on the floor.

“Yikes, that would have been loud,” Junko said, turning back to Mikan with a pleased grin. “I’m getting better at this, huh? You can’t tell me all that practice in your classes was wasted now.”

Junko returned the book to the small stack in Mikan’s arms. Mikan released the breath caught in her lungs, the adrenaline still coursing through her system making her arms shake.

Mikan picked a table far from other people and quickly set down the books before she dropped more of them, plopping into the end seat. She opened the top book Junko saved from a boisterous demise, shuffling through the dusty pages. She spent a good ten minutes scanning the headings and bolded phrases, seeing if anything popped out to her. There were many drawings of ghosts, depictions ranging from cartoonish with bed sheets draped over them to more realistic takes on what ghosts may look like, with transparent bodies, rotting flesh, and sporting the fatal wounds they suffered.

“Oh _gross_ , look at this tool. Looks like someone ripped out all his organs,” Junko said, pointing at one of the macabre illustrations and tapping it with a long, translucent nail. “Glad I don’t look like that. The universe knew everything would go out of whack if I didn’t keep my hotness after death.”

Despite Junko’s enormous ego, Mikan couldn’t disagree. As strange as this whole thing was, she was at least thankful that Junko looked as she always did as a spirit rather than monstrous like in some of these pictures. If Mikan had to wake up every day to a talking, flying skeleton peppered with viscera and flaps of skin, she’d check herself into that psychiatric hospital she feared so much.

Or just throw herself out the window. That still sounded appealing. If Mikan was destined to be stuck in this world after death, she had no doubt she’d look even more disgusting than these illustrations. Can only be as beautiful in death as you were in life.

Mikan continued scavenging the book for a few more minutes before she finally found something of interest.

_“Spirits lingering in the world of the living often do not do so by choice, but rather because something is binding them here. Many recordings from the past tell of spirits remaining trapped and growing hostile because they perished before accomplishing a specific goal, or because their soul has been bound to an object and they cannot escape.”_

Mikan flipped the page.

_“Once their goal is achieved or the object binding them is destroyed, the spirit will usually pass on peacefully.”_

But... Junko wasn’t angry. Not once had Mikan felt threatened by her presence. Junko didn’t even remember how she died. Maybe that’s what Junko needed to learn before she could pass on.

On the other hand, Junko seemed bound to Mikan as she couldn’t get too far away before they both got splitting headaches, Mikan especially, but how did that make any sense? Why did that happen to them? How was Mikan supposed to set Junko free if the object binding her to this world was herself?

Wait. It did say all she had to do was destroy the object. If that were the case... if Mikan killed herself like she originally planned, then Junko could—

“Mikan?”

Mikan nearly jumped out of her skin, all her previous thoughts vanishing from her brain. She looked up towards the unexpected voice, taking in pale skin, freckles, and a head of bright red hair. Mikan immediately panicked, glancing around frantically, but she didn’t spot a giant blonde ponytail anywhere.

“Fancy running into you here,” Mahiru said, carefully handling the camera around her neck as she sat at Mikan’s table. She smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is this that selfie ho from high school?” Junko questioned loudly. “Does everyone from our old school go here?”

Mikan jumped. For a second she forgot about Junko.

“Y-yeah, you too,” Mikan muttered, ignoring Junko and trying to hide how nervous she was. “W-what brings you here?”

“Looking over some photography books. What about you?”

How was she supposed to explain this collection? Mahiru was well aware Mikan wasn’t studying anthropology.

“Just... r-researching for fun?” Mikan offered, even though it sounded more like a question.

Mahiru seemed to buy it though, judging from her smile. “I get it. Stuff like that can be really fascinating. I’d love the chance to snap a ghost on camera someday.” She giggled quietly. “If they exist, of course.”

Junko posed provocatively on the table in front of Mahiru. “Turn on the camera, bitch. Your model’s right here.” Junko lifted a shapely leg, her miniskirt hiking up even further. “I’d say get my good side but, well,” a smirk, “that’s every side.”

Mikan bit her lip, trying not to react to Junko’s antics—and trying even harder not to stare. Obviously Mahiru couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary so Mikan did her best to hold her gaze with a straight face.

The smile on Mahiru’s lips faded. Her eyes were downcast. “I’m sorry again for yesterday.”

Mikan’s throat tightened. A part of her hoped this wouldn’t get brought up. She just wanted to forget about it until it assuredly happened again.

“I wish Hiyoko wouldn’t treat you like that. I always give her a stern talking to about it afterwards but it’s in one ear and out the other with her.” Mahiru sighed, rubbing at her face, but the creases in her brow mimicked a stain. “I’m sorry that I’m no help to you.”

She looked genuinely guilty. Apologies meant nothing, Mikan scarcely heard them from anyone, but of course Mikan forgave her anyway. There wasn’t much to forgive in the first place. She couldn’t blame Mahiru for the way Hiyoko treated her, and she couldn’t expect Mahiru to jeopardize her relationship for her. Mikan wasn’t worth it.

“N-no, it’s fine, it’s n-not your fault,” Mikan assured. “It w-wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?” Mahiru parroted, frowning. “Mikan, she made you c—”

“It’s okay,” Mikan cut her off quickly and a touch too loudly. If they were alone she probably wouldn’t have done that, but they weren’t alone, and the extra pair of eyes suddenly staring through her made her anxious. She swallowed and kept speaking. “I’m u-used to it. I’m o-okay, I promise.”

Mahiru sighed. “One day she’ll grow tired of it. She has to.”

But as soon as Hiyoko grew tired of picking on Mikan she would just start picking on someone else. Someone even weaker, even more pathetic, if such a person existed. Mikan couldn’t allow that. No one should be getting bullied in her place. It had to be her. It wouldn’t be right for someone to suffer when it should be her.

Mahiru must have noticed the conflicting emotions traversing Mikan’s face. “I didn’t mean to bring down your mood, Mikan. I’m sorry. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ll get going now. Good luck with your research.”

Mahiru stood and made to walk away but then looked back with a soft smile.

“Your outfit looks cute, by the way.”

Then Mahiru walked off. Mikan sat slightly stunned from the compliment, the same one Junko gave her earlier, watching until that fiery bob cut vanished from sight.

“Anne of Green Gables has good taste in clothes but apparently not in women,” Junko said, sliding off the table and occupying Mahiru’s earlier seat. She stared directly at Mikan. “Did something happen yesterday?”

Mikan hesitated. She wanted to avoid the question.

“You died, Junko,” Mikan whispered. She knew that wasn’t the answer Junko sought but technically she wasn’t wrong.

Junko rolled her eyes. “Duh. Not that. Was this Hiyoko bitch bullying you?”

Mikan looked away, fighting every instinct to wring her hands. “Mahiru was e-exaggerating. H-Hiyoko gives me a hard time b-but it’s nothing I can’t h-handle.”

“ _Gives_? Not _gave_? So this happens regularly?”

Sometimes even Mikan forgot how frighteningly skilled Junko was at analyzing people’s words. Of course she’d catch something like that.

“It d-doesn’t matter,” Mikan replied. She didn’t know what else to say. She just wanted this conversation to be over.

But Junko pressed on, seeming quite interested. “Does this have something to do with why you were alone in the middle of nowhere last night?”

Mikan couldn’t focus on research now. She had to leave, needed something to happen, anything, so Junko wouldn’t ask further about this. She didn’t want to break down in the middle of the library. She got yelled at for it last time.

“I’m hungry,” Mikan said, standing abruptly and brushing past Junko. It wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. Honestly it was miraculous she hadn’t passed out thanks to that plus the emotional peril of the past twenty-four hours. Only a few drops remained in her energy pool and even though the sun hadn’t set yet she was ready to sleep again, temporarily or not.

Mikan checked out the books, packed them in her bag and left the library.

The cafeteria and other restaurants on campus would be packed at this time and Mikan didn’t feel like waiting in line for half an hour, so instead she visited a convenience store and selected the healthiest sandwich available. Even with how hungry she was she doubted she could keep much down with the exhaustion she felt and the ever-growing pit of anxiety in her belly.

She nibbled her dinner as she wandered back to her dorm. If she were lucky Ibuki would be out practicing with her band and Mikan could immediately pass out for the next twelve hours. She felt like she could sleep for a whole week if she didn’t have classes to worry about. If she was even a fraction less passionate about her dream of becoming a nurse and getting the grades required for that career, then maybe she would have done just that.

“Wait, don’t go back to your dorm yet.”

Junko reached for Mikan’s wrist as if she could actually grab and pull to make Mikan stop. Her hand faded right through, as expected, but the chilly sensation succeeded in freezing Mikan in her tracks. Mikan looked back at Junko with a questioning gaze, chewing slowly on her sandwich.

“Let’s take a detour,” Junko said. “My sister needs to know I’m dead.”

Mikan swallowed the last bite down her tightening throat and threw the sandwich wrapper in a nearby trash bin. “W-where does Mukuro live?”

“Oh our dorm is in the building right beside yours.”

“Wait, what?” Mikan’s eyes blew wide, glancing at the second dormitory she had never set foot in. “Y-you both go to school h-here?”

“Did I forget to mention that last night?” Junko shrugged, floating lazily in the air. “It wasn’t really relevant at the time.”

Perhaps not, but it certainly would have been relevant to Mikan _ages_ ago.

How did Mikan not know this? She had been living on this campus for almost three years. How did she never see either of them once, or never hear other students talk about attending school with a moderately famous model like Junko?

Maybe Mikan didn’t notice because she was always trapped in her thoughts and staring at the ground. She tried to avoid the students here as much as possible, and the only time they wanted to talk to her was when they wanted to bully her.

Again, the only one who was nice to her was Ibuki—Mahiru too, but not as intimately—and they never talked about Junko.

“Most people don’t know I go here,” Junko explained. “I’m never around and I skip class all the time. I only show up for the tests, and even then I look different than I do in the magazines. If someone recognizes me and has the balls to approach me I just tell them they have the wrong person.”

Mikan blinked, surprised by that reasonable response. “I-I guess that’s a f-fair way to deal with that.”

“After threatening to scoop out their eyeballs with a hot spoon.”

There it was. Should’ve known something like that was coming.

Mikan made her way to the dormitory opposite her own and it was only on the elevator up that she grew nervous to the point of petrification, as if the elevator could break and crash back down any second—growing even more nervous when that second thought seemed more appealing. What exactly was she supposed to say? How do you tell someone their younger sister was dead? That you saw her kill herself? And not only that, but that Mikan could still interact with her while no one else could?

Maybe Mukuro would be able to see Junko, too. They were sisters—twins—after all. They’ve shared an unbreakable bond since conception; one Mikan could never beat. Surely Mukuro could give Mikan some answers. Surely Mukuro could handle this better than Mikan ever could.

The elevator dinged and Mikan’s heart was thundering as she stepped off, following Junko’s directions to the room at the end of the hall. Mikan hesitated in front of the door, fingers shaking.

Her mind was still trying to convince her that all of this was a dream. Junko’s death, Junko’s ghost following her around, Junko going to the same college as her for who knows how long. None of it made sense.

And now she had to face Mukuro, the only person on the planet Mikan could confidently say loved Junko more than Mikan used to, and tell her that Junko was dead and that she wasn’t fast enough to save her.

“She’ll be there if that’s what you’re worried about,” Junko said. “Here.” Junko thrust her head through the wall of her dorm. “Yep, she’s in there. She’s pacing. Looks ready to kill someone.”

Mikan gulped, hugging herself. That definitely didn’t make her feel any better.

“Look,” Junko sighed as she emerged from the wall, somehow sounding both annoyed and sympathetic, “I don’t really wanna talk to her either. I never want to talk to her. But she will burn this place to the ground if she doesn’t find out what happened to me. Which would be hilarious but, y’know, problematic.”

Mikan took a deep breath. Junko was right, despite her callous and insensitive wording. She had to do this. She was the only one who could. And Mukuro deserved to know.

It only took one knock and the door swung open in a flash of speed, making Mikan flinch and instinctively raise her arms in front of her chest. Mikan noticed Mukuro’s defensive stance, her frantic, suspicious gaze despite her impassive expression, and that one of her hands was hidden behind her back.

Was she seriously holding a weapon? Maybe it was best if Mikan didn’t know. If she thought about it too much what little remained of her survival instinct would tell her to run, and whatever weapon Mukuro was concealing would be imbedded in Mikan’s spine the second she turned around.

Even though Mikan still wanted to die, better not to risk it.

Mikan gave Mukuro another once over, buying time to gain the courage to speak. Mukuro was really skinny in high school, maybe even skinnier than Junko, but she had noticeably gained weight in muscle now. One swing and Mikan would go down and probably never get back up.

Additionally, Mukuro wasn’t looking at Junko so she must not be able to see her. Mikan was both disappointed and relieved and she wasn’t sure why.

“H-h-hello, M-Mukuro,” Mikan greeted, the words choked and awkward. She squeezed the fabric over her drumming heart. She could do this. Just this once she could be a functional human being capable of social interaction with someone who was basically a stranger. “U-um, we haven’t really t-talked before, but do you r-remember me?”

“My upperclassman from high school, Mikan Tsumiki,” Mukuro said in a monotone voice, much to Mikan’s surprise. “I remember. Can I help you?”

Mukuro had mastered hiding her emotions in her voice, almost like a machine, but her body language spoke for itself.

“Hah! Look at this loser,” Junko mocked with a grin. “I’m gone for one night and she’s this paranoid.”

_To be fair, you did die._

“I-I, um...” Mikan took a breath, bracing herself. “I-I need to talk to you about Junko.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed please let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikan has to tell Mukuro the truth, but how will Mukuro take it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been like 2 months since I updated this. Getting sick back in August really killed my momentum. But don't think for a second I've lost interest in writing this fic! I was focusing on my other ones for awhile but hopefully the next chapter won't take me as long to publish.
> 
> Same content warnings as always.

Mikan didn’t have time to blink before Mukuro pulled her inside, slamming and locking the door.

“What do you know?” Mukuro asked, voice hard and cold.

Mikan nervously glanced between the door and Mukuro who looked more and more impatient by the second. “W-why did you lock the...”

Mukuro stepped closer, an impassable roadblock preventing any daring beelines to the door, encompassing the whole of Mikan’s vision. Through clenched teeth came a low hiss, “Where is my sister?”

Mikan squeaked, arms rising instinctively to protect herself.

“P-please, just—”

“There’s no time, just tell me!”

Mikan backed away until her heel hit the wall and it took everything in her to stay standing. Normally in these situations she’d sink to the ground, purposely appearing as pathetic as possible. It got more people to notice her and sometimes her attackers would take pity; maybe only spit when they would otherwise stomp.

No one else was here. There was no point trying to attract attention.

And despite her predicament, Junko was floating up in the corner and laughing loudly, like this was some comedy routine rather than the two people who cared about her the most nearly having breakdowns. How could Mukuro not hear her? Mikan truly thought if anyone else in this world could recognize Junko’s presence it would be Mukuro, but Mikan was abandoned with this ability just like with everything else.

“Oh man, I’ve never seen her like this,” Junko said between giggles. “This is awesome.”

This was not awesome. This was the opposite of awesome. Of all the words to describe this dilemma, awesome would never be one of them.

Barely two minutes had passed and Mukuro already raised her voice to volumes Mikan didn’t know she was capable of. This anger, this desperation, all signs of a typical protective older sister, and they were reasonable given the situation, but such substantial emotions seemed so misplaced on Mukuro whom Mikan couldn’t recall so much as frowning back in high school.

And Mikan hadn’t even told her the bad news yet.

Mikan thought back to how Mukuro reached behind her earlier when they were at the door, most likely for some sort of weapon concealed under her shirt. Whatever that object was would still be in Mukuro’s possession and Mikan had no doubt she knew how to use it.

Mikan experienced multiple scary situations in her life; one could say her life _was_ a scary situation. She had stared in the mirror every morning before high school, debating the best way to cover up the bruises she received the night before. Had looked up to see many dark, snarling faces circling her like she was a piece of salted meat for them to devour. Had stared down at gaping, bleeding gashes she had to learn to stitch herself if she didn’t want to die. Hell, she had looked down the abyss in which she planned to throw herself.

But this? Something about this was a more intimate terror. This was Mukuro, a potentially armed and extremely capable woman, who would do anything to keep Junko safe.

And Mikan, weak and defenceless with a clear death wish, had to break it to her that Junko was dead.

Suddenly everything in her past wasn’t quite so scary.

Her fear must have shown on her face—Mikan had never been good at hiding such things, learning to use them to her advantage most of the time instead—because Mukuro stepped back and her body language slightly relaxed.

“I’m sorry for shouting,” Mukuro said, voice much tamer now. “I’m just worried. It’s been over a day and she hasn’t returned my calls or my texts.” She gripped at her camo styled cargo pants, silver eyes glancing away. “So if you know where she is, please tell me.”

Mikan’s heart bled for her, even if she was anxious to the point of shaking. Mukuro had no idea what was going on and clearly she was just scared.

Not that her fear would vanish once she got answers, though. Ignorance would be bliss in this situation—Mikan would certainly be more at peace if she weren’t dragged into some paranormal mystery centred around her high school crush—but they both were already in too deep to back out now.

“Honestly?” Junko’s voice attracted Mikan’s attention. Junko observed her nails with a bored expression—had this really bored her already? “I wouldn’t have returned her calls anyway. And normally I leave her texts on read. But since my phone snapped as bad as my neck that wasn’t happening either. That’s probably what set her off.”

If Junko’s phone survived the fall a lot of their problems could’ve been made much easier. It could’ve had evidence of why Junko ended up at the abandoned building last night. Maybe it would’ve showed people she had contact with and they could’ve supplied some information.

But would it truly have helped with this dilemma? It wasn’t like Junko could’ve called Mukuro back after she was dead, and at that point she had trouble gripping solid objects anyway. Mikan would’ve had to hold the phone for her.

Mikan could’ve seen Mukuro’s texts. Could’ve left her on read—which, according to Junko, would have been enough to sedate her. Or Mikan could have replied to them.

What would she have said? Anything would’ve been suspicious, especially since doing so would’ve implied Junko was still alive, and then Mikan would’ve had to upkeep that fabrication. And she was a terrible liar. She wouldn’t have lasted long, both in her lie and her life, if she tried fooling Mukuro like that.

Maybe in the end it was better Junko’s phone smashed to pieces, even if it made understanding Junko’s situation all the more difficult.

Mukuro glanced in the direction of Mikan’s distracted gaze. “What are you looking at?”

Mukuro was definitely more perceptive than Mahiru had been. Then again, Mikan was currently panicking and couldn’t concentrate as much on ignoring Junko’s presence. Mikan would feel completely lost right now if Junko wasn’t there and she needed her reassurance; to look into Junko’s eyes and know, somehow, she was going to make it out of this room unscathed.

“You need to say it,” Junko said in a softer tone then before, one that showed she had been paying adept attention even if she didn’t show it, and floated closer. “I know it sucks donkey nuts, I feel that just from being in the same room as her ugly ass, but if you made it through last night after seeing my hot blue bod rise from the grave, you can make it through this. Grow a vag, Nurse Girl.”

Junko’s attempt at motivation was certainly unique, a smidge condescending, but it did help a little. She was right, even if Junko didn’t know the whole truth; if Mikan could escape her planned suicide with nothing more than some scrapes on her knees—and a ghost haunting her—she could get through this.

And, Mikan also noticed, Junko was really mean to Mukuro, even when Mukuro was just worried about her. That shouldn’t have surprised her—Junko wasn’t nice to Mukuro back in high school, either—but lonely years had fogged her memory to the harshness of Junko’s words.

Mukuro was probably used to them by now. She’d probably accept any and every insult so long as she knew Junko was okay.

Mikan wished that was the news she was delivering.

She looked back to Mukuro, who seemed both confused and determined, but also like she was trying to appear as unintimidating as possible. It was awkward, clearly not something Mukuro was used to doing, but her efforts didn’t go unnoticed. Mikan inhaled a shaky breath, pressing her fingers together. “W-will you promise not to hurt me?”

A strange gleam crossed Mukuro’s eyes for a moment. That probably wasn’t the first time someone pleaded that to her.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know what happened to Junko.” Mukuro sighed and her whole body seemed to deflate. “Please tell me.”

Mikan took a deep breath that did little to calm her nerves.

“Junko, she... s-she’s dead.”

It was so quiet Mikan heard her heart pound. Saying those words aloud didn’t settle her anxiety any, probably made it worse, and tasting them on her tongue, saying them as a fact to another person, just solidified her horrible new reality that much more. In the edge of her vision she saw Junko glancing between both of them, waiting to see who would break the tense silence first.

“... What?”

Mukuro’s expression didn’t change but that one word clung in the air like poisonous gas.

“I-I know,” Mikan said, shoulders slumping in contrast to Mukuro’s straightening spine, “I’m still in shock about it too, but—”

The corners of Mukuro’s mouth twitched. “Do you think this is funny?”

“Oh boy,” Junko sighed. “Here we go.”

The room suddenly felt very cold, as cold as when Junko brushed her wrist earlier except prickling her whole body, and Mikan’s heart sped up and plummeted into her rolling gut.

“N-no, of c-course not,” Mikan forced out, the words jittery and rushed, like she were drowning in the icy depths that flooded the room. “I...”

“If you just came here to mock me, then get out.”

“I-I’m being serious!” Mikan clutched the fabric over her thundering heart. It was hard to breathe. “S-she really is dead. That’s why she hasn’t called you back.”

“And how do you know this? Why isn’t this all over the news? Why are you the only one who knows?”

“I...” Mikan rubbed her elbow, looking away. “It’s h-hard to explain.”

“I advise you figure it out. Until you do, I won’t believe anything you say.” Mukuro bit her lip. “Junko’s not... she can’t...”

Mikan’s gaze dropped to her feet. “I-I’m really sorry. I’m devastated by it, too.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Junko cooed with a catlike smile that didn’t fit the atmosphere. “That’s not the D word I like.”

Mikan could barely comprehend what Junko said because Mukuro’s brow furrowed, her face composed of hard lines and shadows, like what Mikan said offended her. “I’ve spent my entire life by her side. You didn’t even know her.”

Out of every insult Mikan ever had thrown her way, that one hit the sorest spot. Normally she would agree with whatever people called her and let bullies have their way, and even though she knew Mukuro wasn’t a bully, her comment brought out what little defensiveness Mikan had left. “Y-yes I did!”

Mikan spent her high school years in love with Junko. Admiring her from afar. Of course she knew her. Maybe not intimately, maybe not as well as she wanted, but she still knew her.

Mukuro looked skeptical. “You had _one_ conversation with her.”

Mikan’s heart skipped a beat. Mukuro knew about that?

“I mean, she’s not wrong,” Junko added casually, and Mikan withered further.

“I-I still cared,” Mikan murmured, unsure who she was trying to convince.

“Not to the degree that I cared,” Mukuro said firmly. “ _Still_ care. I can’t believe she’s dead unless I see it with my own eyes.”

Junko planted her feet on the ground in front of Mukuro, hands on her hips. “Open them a little wider, stupid.”

Mikan disregarded Junko’s rude and unnecessary remark and stared through her translucent form to bravely meet Mukuro’s steely gaze. “I-I can show you,” Mikan offered. “I k-know where her body is.”

“Her _body_? Are you saying you’ve seen her body and you just... left it there? You didn’t call anyone?” Mukuro narrowed her eyes. “Do you realize how suspicious that is?”

Mikan didn’t know how to reply to that. Nothing she said would clear her of suspicion until she showed Mukuro the truth—so long as Mukuro would give her a chance.

“Prove it to me, then. Take me there.” Mukuro hurriedly donned a black jacket and shoved a set of keys in her pocket. “But if this is just some elaborate prank, there _will_ be a body for someone else to find.”

Mikan gulped. She didn’t doubt that for a second, nor did she doubt how long it would take someone to find what little would remain of her.

“It’s a l-long bus ride,” Mikan said. One she wasn’t looking forward to. Riding them alone and becoming a unit with the faceless people around her was one thing, it was suffocating yet also strangely comforting, but riding them with someone who knew her, someone who probably wasn’t fond of her right now, meant she couldn’t mold with the rest of the passengers.

It meant everyone else got to breathe together while she drowned alone.

Mukuro rummaged her keys around. “I have a car. I’ll drive.”

Mikan didn’t expect that. Sometimes she completely forgot everyone she knew was now old enough to have a driver’s license. Maybe because she hadn’t changed at all since high school. Maybe because abuse and mental health issues stole her youth.

She stared at Mukuro for a moment more, observing the dark rings under Mukuro’s eyes with gnawing concern. Then Mikan fidgeted. “Um...”

“What?”

“Have you s-slept?”

“No.” The blunt honesty threw Mikan off a little. “I won’t crash the car if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been required to stay awake for 72 hour periods many times before.”

“R-required?”

A grunt. “It doesn’t matter.” Mukuro swung open the door, avoiding eye contact. “Let’s go.”

Mikan thought the elevator up there was bad. The ride back down in this stuffy metal box with Mukuro breathing the same stale air was nearly unbearable. Junko was there too of course, from now on she’d always be there, but even though she didn’t actually take up any room just seeing her so close made Mikan instinctively slink to the corner to give them both the most space.

The deafeningly silence was killing her and Mikan felt she should say something, anything so she could be distracted by a voice rather than the muted rumbles of the elevator and the drumming of her heart, but Mukuro’s expression showed she wouldn’t entertain idle conversation.

“Pinch your nose, Mikan,” Junko advised, demonstrating her words and gagging, joining Mikan in her corner away from Mukuro. “I can’t smell shit anymore but I know I wouldn’t want to be you right now trapped in here with that skunk.”

Mikan bit her lip, Junko’s exaggerated noises of disgust not distracting her nearly enough. She gripped the railing with white knuckles. The floor numbers couldn’t count down any slower.

As soon as the doors opened Mukuro was off in a flash and Mikan practically had to jog to keep up with her pace.

Almost immediately upon exiting the front door of the dorms a bustling crowd of students, probably gathered so densely from synchronized endings of their classes, obstructed their path towards the parking lot.

Mukuro was skilled at weaving right through, like her form could liquefy and slip past even the tiniest of cracks, but Mikan got caught in the middle, blinded as she stumbled her way through this maze of titans. She was too panicked to regard anyone’s face, all her effort channelled on not being pushed over.

“Mikan?”

Was that her name just now? Who was calling her name in this crowd?

Junko pointed over Mikan’s shoulder, bodies hazing through her form in a disorienting blur. “Shedding girl, ass o’clock.”

Huh? What did—

“Hey, Mikan!”

Mikan winced. Now she recognized that loud, thrilled, and very familiar voice. She had no idea what to say to Ibuki right now. She felt she didn’t even deserve to talk to her after what she put her through last night—and honestly for the majority of their friendship.

A part of Mikan wanted to let the crowd carry her away but at that point it was too thin. Having no other choice, she steeled herself and turned to face her best friend. Ibuki wore a big smile like nothing was wrong, like Mikan hadn’t done anything wrong, and that just made everything hurt more.

“Oh, h-hey Ibuki.”

Ibuki stepped close with heavy thumps from her boots, decorated with pink and blue laces. In contrast to the cloud of overpriced perfume and axe body spray that invaded Mikan’s nose from the crowd, Ibuki smelled like cotton candy. “You’ve been ghosting Ibuki a lot lately.”

She got straight to the point; clearly that had been on her mind, and once something was on Ibuki’s mind she usually didn’t hesitate to say it. Mikan, meanwhile, was the exact opposite. She knew what Ibuki said was true, it replayed in her head like a scratched record, but she couldn’t just say that to her. She would dodge that confession as long as she could.

“Heh, _ghosting_ ,” Junko chuckled, flying around them in a circle, and Mikan tried to not let her eyes wander. “That’s ironic. If only she knew.”

It was better that she didn’t know.

Dyed pink eyebrows furrowed together. “Did Ibuki do something wrong?”

“W-what?” Mikan stumbled, nearly choking on her saliva. “N-no, of course not!” Great, Mikan was so poor at communication she got her best friend faulting herself. She had to at least fix that. Nothing Ibuki did could ever ruin their friendship; that was Mikan’s forte. “I-I’m not mad at you or anything. I’ve just been... going through some stuff, y’know?”

Ibuki crossed her arms and nodded feverishly. “For sure. When Ibuki’s last band broke up Ibuki was so bummed out only to realize those girls all secretly found Ibuki annoying the whole time and didn’t like being in a band to begin with and Ibuki was, like, the ‘BIG MAD’ mood for awhile and smashed one of her OG guitars and lived at the karaoke bar for three days but now Ibuki has a new band that appreciates her sound and the music world is good again!”

Mikan blinked. She barely caught a word of that.

“So what are you doing?” Ibuki asked after a beat of silence, gaze shifting between Mikan and something over her shoulder. No way could Ibuki see Junko—she wouldn’t have kept quiet about it—so Mukuro must be waiting nearby. Probably impatiently.

How was she supposed to answer that without seeming suspicious?

“Oh, um, Mukuro and I are just,” she tried but she couldn’t think of anything, “... going somewhere.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Junko drawled, “you’re terrible at this.”

She really was. Mikan was a terrible liar.

But Ibuki’s face lit up anyway, clearly not concerned by Mikan’s vague wording. “Cool! Can Ibuki come?”

“No!” Any further outburst crumbled in her throat at Ibuki’s shocked expression. “I-I mean...” Mikan struggled for an excuse. “It’s kinda just... a two person thing.”

Mikan tried to ignore her rising guilt at the hurt that flashed in Ibuki’s pink eyes; gorgeous eyes that deserved to shine with nothing but energy and happiness. Mikan had been avoiding her, Ibuki had noticed, and now Ibuki saw her immediately hanging out with someone else on top of leaving the campus together. That probably made her feel so unwanted.

Mikan was a terrible friend. Ibuki deserved better. She deserved someone who didn’t lie to her all the time; someone who didn’t give her long, anxious nights.

Ibuki glanced between her and Mukuro again. “Ah! _Slippery When Wet_. Ibuki understands.” Ibuki grinned, playfully slapping Mikan’s arm. “But you owe Ibuki a play date next time, okay?”

It felt like whiplash how swiftly Ibuki recovered from the rejection. “S-sure.”

Ibuki turned to walk away but said, “Oh, wait, one more thing,” and span back around just as quickly. Ibuki’s expression softened, almost smiling but not quite. “Are you coming home tonight?”

It was such a simple question but it was like a spear to Mikan’s chest. She had worried Ibuki so much. And she had a feeling she was going to keep worrying her. Mikan had no idea what this night had in store for her. She couldn’t really promise anything.

But she couldn’t give Ibuki another sleepless night. She owed Ibuki that much. She owed Ibuki way more honestly, more than she could ever repay, but this was all she was capable of for now.

“I-I don’t know,” Mikan said. “B-but I swear I’ll text you this time.”

She meant it. She would find time. She wouldn’t worry Ibuki again.

Ibuki enveloped her in a tight hug. Mikan gasped, overwhelmed by how warm Ibuki was. How comforting her arms were, wrapped in colourful garments and accessories Ibuki made herself. How her sweet scent gently invaded Mikan’s nostrils, reminding Mikan of the late nights they used to spend chatting while she tried to stop Ibuki from eating too much junk food. How soft and extravagant her hair was, like a heated blanket, with wild strands tickling Mikan’s cheeks. How her hands, nails always painted beautifully and fingertips calloused from guitar playing, gripped at Mikan’s shirt like she never wanted to let go.

Mikan couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged her; couldn’t remember how nice it felt being held by someone that actually cared. For those few seconds, time that was both so long and too short, she felt cherished.

“Ibuki always looks forward to your texts. And even more to our date!” Ibuki pulled back and winked. “Be safe, Mikan!”

_Be safe, Mikan._

Those words stuck with her, ringing in her ears long after Ibuki waved and disappeared into their dorm. She prayed they would stick with her tonight, tomorrow night, and every night after.

If they rung in her head last night, maybe this entire situation could have been avoided.

Junko stared where Ibuki had been standing and tapped her chin. “Interesting.”

“What is?” Mikan whispered so Mukuro wouldn’t overhear.

“No, no, I’m not a spoiler kinda girl.” Junko gestured in Mukuro’s direction with an arc of her arm and a bow like she was finishing a stage play. “Carry on.”

What was that about? Did Ibuki say something that Mikan missed? Junko had always been incredible at analyzing people and picking apart their words; she proved that beyond any doubt for Mikan just earlier today, catching something as unnoticeable as the tense of a word and instantly understanding its meaning.

But Mikan didn’t have time to worry about it. Mukuro was already heading towards her vehicle and Mikan would get swept away by another cluster of students if she didn’t hurry.

Mikan wasn’t familiar with car models. Mukuro’s was black, modern and didn’t stand out much to the other cars around them, almost like it was designed purposely to blend in—kind of like Mukuro herself.

The interior was just as plain. No seat pads, no charms or air fresheners, not even any old water bottles or coffee cups or fast food wrappers in the backseat. Either Mukuro didn’t use her car very much or she just didn’t care for making it feel homely.

She had to keep something in here. Maybe under the seat, or in the glove box, or in the trunk. No one kept nothing in their car. If Mukuro concealed a weapon under her clothes this whole time, if she was that paranoid and prepared, surely she had something hidden in her car.

And all of a sudden Mikan didn’t want to know what.

She barely fastened her seatbelt by the time Mukuro was already speeding away from school grounds. Mikan didn’t know the directions to the abandoned building by car, wouldn’t be able to identify the distance or any street names from memory, so she opened her phone with the intention to check the maps but her battery was dangerously low and probably wouldn’t survive the ride.

“C-can I use your phone for directions?” Mikan asked. She shook her phone for emphasis. “I’m about to die.”

She winced. Extremely poor word choice.

Mukuro didn’t say anything, unlocking and holding her phone out for Mikan without a glance of acknowledgement.

Mikan gingerly accepted the device, holding it tightly in fear of her clumsy fingers dropping it, using the maps to look up the bus station she stopped at last night along with the road she aimlessly wandered.

While Mukuro was driving and refusing to look at her, Mikan couldn’t help but peek at Mukuro’s calls and texts. She knew it was none of her business but she couldn’t help it—and maybe it could somehow provide some information? That was how she tried to justify this invasion of privacy to herself.

Sixteen missed calls to Junko’s phone along with numerous texts spanning over the past twenty-four hours.

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Did you have dinner already or should I pick up something?_

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Are you out drinking again?_

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Please tell me you’re not doing something stupid._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Junko those days are behind us now._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Do you need me to pick you up?_

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Are you coming home tonight?_

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Junko are you okay?_

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Please answer your phone._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _I know you don’t like calling me but please call me back._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Junko please at least read these._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Junko?_

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _I’m in despair okay? You got me. Please reply._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _Sis please._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _I’m just worried._

 **_Mukuro Ikusaba:_ ** _I love you Junko. Please tell me you’re okay._

A pang of guilt shot through Mikan like a bullet at point-blank range, similar to last night on the bus home after reading the texts she received. Was this how Ibuki felt when she didn’t answer her texts? When she stayed up waiting for a response that never came?

How relieved was Ibuki when she saw Mikan safe in their room that morning?

Mukuro wouldn’t get that luxury.

“Yikes,” Junko chirped from behind her, and Mikan probably would have jumped right out of her seat if not for her seatbelt. Junko must have been reading the texts over Mikan’s shoulder. That was going to be a common reoccurrence, wasn’t it? “She really was losing it. As if I missed all that despair.”

Mikan knew Junko wasn’t the most sensitive person but that was a terribly rude thing to say—Mukuro was reasonably worried—so Mikan glared over her shoulder even though she knew she’d never look intimidating to anyone, especially the spirit of the most powerful and fearless woman she’d ever known. Junko just shrugged.

“To be fair this wasn’t my fault this time. _No_ ,” Junko scowled, “I see that look, fuck off with that, don’t you start with the ‘I killed myself’ shit again. I did _not_ do that. As much as I would’ve loved to be directly responsible for my sister’s despair, none of this was planned.”

Mikan opened her mouth to respond and promptly closed it again. Seemingly arguing with herself wouldn’t get her in Mukuro’s good graces any faster.

With a quiet sigh Mikan turned back around. She knew what she saw. How could Junko keep denying it?

The rest of the ride was extremely awkward. Mukuro kept the radio off and there was something so unsettling about riding in someone’s car with no form of distraction. On a bus it didn’t seem so bad, when one was surrounded by likeminded strangers, but in someone’s personal space? And when the one driving the car was wary of you? The purr of the engine and the blur of road and trees were not nearly enough to settle Mikan’s heart.

Mikan would’ve even taken Junko’s rambling. Her voice was lovely to hear after all these years, even if the things she said tended to be mean or made no sense, but for some reason it was now that Junko decided to stay quiet.

The silence was torturous and Mikan spared some glances at Mukuro who didn’t take her eyes off the road for a second. Her body language, however, was tense, prepared to strike, like if Mikan said or did anything suspicious a hand would suddenly be clamped around her throat.

Just the thought had her stroking her collarbone, a fingertip reaching to swipe over her fluttering pulse. Strangulation would be one of the worst ways to go. She’d take falling to her death or a bullet to the chest any day.

As the minutes dragged on the sky began to dim, the bright oranges of the golden hour fading to a navy blue. With how uneasy Mikan was in the car next to Mukuro she was almost thankful when they passed the bus station and sped down the road Mikan had walked, meaning they would arrive soon, but then she recalled why they were going there in the first place and her heart rose to her throat once again.

Maybe she could fake a heart attack? She knew the symptoms. Knew how to make it look believable. Mukuro would turn around if there was an emergency, right?

No. Who was she kidding? This was about Junko. Mukuro wouldn’t turn around for anything.

The dirt path leading off the road didn’t properly appear on the map so Mikan kept a sharp eye in the expanding darkness, even though her sprouting dizziness made her vision blurry at the edges. They almost missed the turn but Mukuro abruptly swerved right and Mikan gasped, gripping onto the ceiling handle to avoid being thrown around in her seat.

Mukuro drove until the headlights illuminated the fence boxing the property and then put the car in park.

“This is the place?” Mukuro asked, voice monotone despite her obvious worry and disbelief.

Mikan took a moment to stare at the ominous building; how the outline of the forsaken roof could just barely be seen in the remnants of daylight. “Yes,” she eventually replied.

“This is where her body is?”

“Yes.”

Junko hovered forward to flatten herself on the outside of Mukuro’s windshield but kept her head hung inside the car. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I wasn’t there?” she said with a smirk, casually swishing her arm back and forth like it was a wiper. “Like if my slinky corpse just got up and walked away? Can you imagine?” A snicker. “God, that’d be _fucked_. Plus good luck explaining that to Paranoid Patty over here.”

That was not an image Mikan needed in her brain. The image forever burned behind her eyelids of Junko’s neck snapped to the side and blood pooling around her like the juices of a squished fruit was horrendous enough.

“Why was Junko here?” Mukuro asked.

Mikan shook her head, looking at Junko’s blank expression as she answered. “I-I don’t know.”

“Why were you here?”

Mikan bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with them both.

“The more you hide from me the more suspicious you seem. You know that, right?”

Junko shrugged. “The ugly one has a point.”

Well, what was Mikan supposed to say? That she came here last night to kill herself? That wouldn’t clear her of any suspicion. Would probably sound more like an excuse at this point.

And she... she didn’t want Junko knowing that. She didn’t want to see how Junko would look at her if she knew. Regardless if the look held pity or distain or anything else, Mikan couldn’t handle that look from Junko.

Mukuro sighed and killed the engine. “Let’s go.”

“It’s, um, it’s really d-dark over there,” Mikan stammered, sounding like she was fishing for a reason to stay in the car even though it was a truthful concern, “a-and my phone is dead, and if either of us tripped and cut ourselves on anything here we could get a really bad infection and—”

Mukuro snatched her phone back from Mikan and opened her door. “I have flashlights in the trunk.”

Junko popped into Mikan’s vision. “Have you forgotten I’m basically a fucking glow stick?”

Mikan ignored her, even after hearing Junko’s huff, hurrying after Mukuro to the trunk.

Mukuro also had blankets, a spare tire, food rations, a tool box, a med kit; she seemed prepared for anything. Mikan knew she wouldn’t have kept nothing in her car. Everyone at least kept items for emergencies, like if the car broke down in the middle of winter, and—

Was that a sniper rifle?

“Here.” Mukuro shoved one of the tactical flashlights into Mikan’s hand and slammed the trunk closed before Mikan could get a better look at the deadly weapon she thought she saw. Mukuro shined her light down the dirt path leading to the building that could have been Mikan’s grave and ended up being the grave for the girl Mikan used to love instead. “Lead the way.”

Mikan wasn’t thrilled being back here. Her planned suicide, watching Junko plummet, even the nightmare she had last night; each an ingredient added to the churning vortex of anxiety in her gut that spread to every nerve ending until she felt she might collapse. She never wanted to come back here. This place was a manifestation of her guilt and her shame.

She avoided looking at the roof again. Not only did it resurface gruesome memories, but she knew if she were alone her feet may wander up the stairs unconsciously. She still craved escape. Life was already so cruel, something that made her feel she didn’t belong, didn’t deserve, and being thrust back here in this situation was more than she felt she could handle.

But this wasn’t about her right now. This was about Junko. And despite how many years had passed since Mikan’s feelings were at their undignified peak, like Mukuro, she would do anything for Junko.

Taking the first step forward was the hardest, but each step after was still agonizing. She counted each one as if that would help her calm down but didn’t reach that high of a number before she had to stop, blocked by the fence, and promptly forgot where she left off.

“The legendary rematch of hard fence versus soft titties,” Junko said like a sports announcer, sifting through the chain links like blue smoke and pretending to hold a microphone. “Ladies and more ladies, who will emerge victorious tonight?”

Mikan was thankful the darkness veiled the heat in her cheeks. She tried to ignore Junko’s sparkling eyes and catlike grin as she sucked in a breath and squeezed through the fence. Her breasts did cause some resistance but slow twists of her body prevented her from injury or getting stuck. But her ratty hair got caught in the chain links again and she stumbled, ripping some strands straight from the roots.

“B-be careful,” Mikan warned, rubbing her sore head, “the fence is...”

Her words snuffed out as she watched Mukuro make a running start and jump right over the seven foot tall obstacle, knees bending in an effortless and flawless landing.

“Show off,” Junko groaned. “She always does this.”

Perhaps, but it was impressive—and pretty cool—and Mikan’s jaw slackened, too stunned to comment.

Mukuro didn’t even spare her a glance, like what she did wasn’t shocking or excessive, and headed towards the broken door of the building.

“N-not inside,” Mikan advised hurriedly after coming to her senses. “Around back.”

This was the worst part somehow. Not the elevator up to Mukuro’s dorm, not hesitating to knock on her door, not those silver eyes burning a hole right through her, not the awkward car ride that was both too long and too short; it was right now, when there was absolutely no backing out, and the corpse of the girl she used to love lay just around the corner.

The concept of time became something every cell in her body was acutely aware of. Often it was fleeting, forgotten, tended to pass by too fast or too slow, but now it was like every second was a neon number on a hastily receding timer for a bomb. Mikan wasn’t sure if the numbers counting down would be easier to handle if they were faster or slower—slower would give her longer to live but also longer to fret over her inevitable doom, and faster meant she would explode before she could make any peace but at least she wouldn’t have to worry as long.

Each step forward was agony. Each ticking second her chest felt like it would implode. Her brain felt numb, her organs felt itchy, and every part of her was screaming to run but she knew she couldn’t run, not from Mukuro, not from herself, and more literally not from Junko, and—

And then there was no time.

They turned the corner.

It was difficult to see through the wreckage and shrubbery, but the blonde waves shining like they belonged in their spotlights was a telltale sign.

One second Mukuro was walking beside her then a strangled, “No,” and Mukuro sprinted forward, collapsing to her knees with none of the grace and control she exhibited with her leap from before. Immediately her hands fretted over Junko’s chest, her neck, then her face.

Mikan released a deep breath and walked closer.

The rotting smell was absolutely vicious, sticking inside Mikan’s nostrils like a burning paste. Mikan’s crusty pile of vomit from last night remained undisturbed and the overwhelming urge to add a new layer was rising exponentially quickly.

Bugs flew around Junko’s corpse like a ravenous tornado, Mukuro constantly swatting them away. She looked a little different from last night as Mikan expected, but hoped she wouldn’t have had to see it. The blood outlining her form darkened like mud. Her eyes were cloudy like boiling water, never to see anything through them again. Her blood sinking like coins in a fountain left her skin pale and blotchy.

“ _Yikes_ , people really do get hella ugly after they croak, don’t they?” Junko commented, observing her corpse with a disgust-laced interest. “Glad I died out here. Can’t have my fans seeing me like this.”

It would just get worse. Her nails would fall out, and her hair, her eyes, eventually everything would bulge and melt right off her bones.

Mikan wouldn’t be able to handle that. Reading about it in textbooks was one thing, seeing images on the internet was another, but in person? Seeing it, smelling it, and having known the deceased? Having loved them?

Knowing she could have prevented it if she were a few minutes faster?

Mikan’s stomach churned and her hand flew to her mouth.

Keep it together. She had to keep it together.

“This isn’t real,” Mukuro murmured, checking Junko’s pulse over and over again. “This isn’t real.”

Mukuro hastily flipped Junko’s body over and lifted her shirt.

Mikan gasped. “W-what are you—”

“I have a tattoo of a bear on my back,” Junko interjected, not seeming nearly as bothered by the disrespect to her corpse as Mikan was. Her voice was more serious than before. “She’s checking to be sure.”

Anyone could have a tattoo of a bear on their back or fake a similar design. An obsessed fan could have a replica of the tattoo in the same spot. It didn’t necessarily mean anything in terms of identifying the body.

Junko shook her head as if reading her thoughts. “I made up this bear when I was five. The tat’s never been shown in any of my modelling photos. No one but Mukuro and I know what he looks like.” She paused for a moment and shrugged. “Well, I guess a few other people do, but they’re all dudes. I’d be more impressed if they could masquerade that well as my corpse rather than be annoyed at them for stealing my bear.”

Something resembling a whimper lingered in the air as Mukuro used her fingertip to trace the outline of a black and white cartoon bear. The design was a little creepy but also cute, and it was adorable that Junko got a tattoo of a character she created as a child—Mikan would love to hear all about that—but unfortunately now was not the time for Mikan to enjoy this newfound secret.

Mukuro traced the bear again, several times, like she couldn’t believe it was there. “Junko, no...”

She carefully rolled Junko onto her back again and cupped her face.

“My baby sister... I’m so _sorry_.”

Mukuro’s voice cracked and Mikan’s heart did the same.

“This is all my fault. I should’ve known something was wrong.” Mikan watched that naturally aloof expression evaporate into grief, into guilt, into painstakingly raw emotion that was seldom experienced, and saw tears creep down Mukuro’s cheeks. Mukuro pet Junko’s hair, brushing the strands from her eyes. “Forgive me... please forgive me...”

Hearing someone else say those words, someone who was competent, made Mikan feel strange, secluded, like she was witnessing something not meant for her; something that wasn’t real, or shouldn’t be. Such pitiful words didn’t belong in the mouths of the strong. Was this how people always saw her? Was this how Junko saw her last night?

It wasn’t Mukuro’s fault. She shouldn’t be saying that. If anyone was at fault here it was Mikan. She heard the clicks of Junko’s heels when climbing the stairs but she hesitated, thinking she was just hearing things. If she listened to her paranoia and rushed up to the roof, maybe she could’ve stopped Junko in time.

She should be getting blamed. She certainly blamed herself.

“Oh, what sweet despair. Losing your favourite person in the world... there’s no greater despair than that.” Junko squatted down to pet Mukuro’s hair like Mukuro was currently doing to her body and Mikan saw a giant shiver traverse Mukuro’s shoulders. Grief must have consumed her too thoroughly to bother contemplating her sudden chill. A smile stretched Junko’s lips. “I knew you were good for something, Big Sis. You’re making me feel so _alive_.”

Mukuro never sobbed, she didn’t make a sound, but held her head low as she continued to cry, her tears splashing over Junko’s face.

And something in that sight hurt Mikan so bad she had to turn away, tears rimming her own eyes.

“All those nights worrying about me and protecting me, and for what? To find maggots eating me in the middle of nowhere.” A mocking snicker. “That must fucking _suck_ , huh?”

Mikan covered her ears. Junko was being so cruel; so flippantly nonchalant about her own death and the suffering of her twin. Even though Mukuro couldn’t hear her, she didn’t deserve being spoken to that way.

“Oh, are you feeling despair too, Mikan?” She flinched at the sound of her name. “That’s wonderful! I’m just winning at everything today, it seems. Being dead really isn’t so bad.”

It was when people cared about her this much. Junko was clearly making the best of it, having way more fun messing with people than she had any right to, but Mikan and Mukuro were heartbroken, were mourning her, and she didn’t seem to care how much this affected them.

On second thought, maybe she did care, but in ways that, once again, Mikan couldn’t comprehend. Junko seemed to thrive off their despair. And that made Mikan conflicted because she loved Junko’s smile, loved seeing her happy, but this wasn’t something anyone should be happy about.

But maybe Mikan was just too stupid to understand. Junko was one of the smartest people she knew back in high school and while Mikan was talented in the medical field she fell short on nearly everything else, including understanding the feelings of others. Mukuro said earlier that Mikan didn’t truly know Junko. The words cut like knives, but... she was right. Mikan had only known Junko from afar outside of one conversation. There was no way she could understand how Junko viewed things, especially complex scenarios such as this.

It didn’t get much more complex than this.

Despite Junko’s levity, her corpse occupied the spot Mikan’s should have. It wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t be like this. Mikan should be the one who was dead.

Beneath her eyes lay flashes of a snapped heel, blood-soaked skin, acrylic nails tearing into her flesh—

_“Then die for me.”_

Those final words from her nightmare echoed in her skull and she pressed tighter at her ears, hearing her heart thump wildly. It wasn’t real. Junko didn’t say that. Junko would never say that.

But Mikan would do it. If that would fix this she would do it. If that could somehow bring Junko back to life, could erase Mukuro’s misplaced guilt, she would stumble her way back up to that roof with no hesitation.

But that wouldn’t fix anything now. It was just another excuse to run away. She was always full of excuses and never anything useful. She was a coward. She was pathetic.

“I’m sorry,” Mikan whispered under her breath. She wasn’t sure who to. And she probably didn’t deserve forgiveness. But she was sorry.

She heard Mukuro shift behind her, possibly in reaction to her impromptu apology. Mikan wasn’t sure what to say to her yet but she didn’t want Mukuro to feel alone right now, Mikan didn’t want to feel alone either, especially not when Junko’s incomprehensible behaviour made her feel even more alone, so she wiped her eyes and turned around.

Mikan didn’t have time to blink before she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“How do I know _you_ didn’t kill her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments really help me stay motivated so I would love to hear your thoughts :)


End file.
